


When All These Stars Hit Ground (they'll wake us)

by gala_apples



Category: Glee
Genre: Beach Sex, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck has tried to come out and failed about a hundred times over the last two years. Only a misplaced foot and a handful of coins have him actually following through in the summer between sophomore and junior year. </p><p>Still, in Puck's mind being gay doesn’t matter unless he’s got someone to be gay with. Kurt Hummel fills the ‘also gay’ role quite well, so might as well fool around with him. It’s not until it’s almost too late that Puck realises he has feelings for Kurt, and that friends with benefits doesn’t cover everything he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All These Stars Hit Ground (they'll wake us)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Puckurt big bang. Raving_liberal has made the graphic art enclosed, and has also made me a mix, [here.](http://raving-liberal.livejournal.com/1010411.html)

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck wakes up positive he heard Sarah scream. He swears as the blanket tangles around him when he tries to get out of bed. He ends up dragging it halfway down the hall. Not for the first time the layout of their house annoys the fuck out of him. It makes no sense that the two smaller bedrooms are on opposite ends of the house. But everything sounds quiet behind her door, so he doesn’t burst through with his arms up and fists clenched to stop a potential invader, just cracks the door and looks in.

She’s definitely still asleep. Sarah’s face is half under her purple and blue plaid comforter, but he can still hear her snores. Her leg is dangling off the bed, foot awkwardly placed against the floor. Puck considers tiptoeing in to adjust her until she’s more comfortable, but ultimately decides against it. She’s got Puck’s old single mattress because Puck’s sole thirteenth birthday present was a queen mattress. He tries not to think about what that says about what his mom thinks of him, or men in general. The mattress protests if it’s so much as breathed on. If Sarah doesn’t wake from being moved, the squeaking will do it. Better to just leave her alone.

Puck closes her door and makes his way back to his bedroom, picking up the blanket and slinging it over his shoulder when he reaches it. When he lies back on his bed Puck’s heart is racing and his mind is whirring. He’s wide awake. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to let the older brother adrenaline seep from his system so he can go back to sleep.

Not that it matters. Mom will take Sarah to the babysitter when she goes to work and Puck will have the house to himself to do what he wants, which could very well include sleeping all day. Puck knows his mom doesn’t trust him with her well-being. Which is bullshit, when you consider all the Jew-horror Mom crams down Sarah’s impressionable throat. At least Puck’s never read her chapters of The Diary of A Young Girl as a bedtime story. Still, he doesn’t argue it. He couldn’t watch Sarah after school anyway. Glee practices are erratically scheduled, but often, and then there’s athletics. And Sarah actually likes the home daycare at the end of the street. Connie provides shit like easels for art projects and bubble wands that are big enough to stand inside so the bubble forms around you. Puck doesn’t have any of that to entertain her with.

Puck was raised the same way Sarah is; babysitting until six on school days, from eight to six on weekends and holidays. Sometimes longer, because Mom doesn’t turn down overtime, and she doesn’t mind being paid under the table if she’s exceeded her allotable overtime. The difference is Sarah’s got a group of kids both older and younger than her and an attentive adult. Puck had a bored teenager who only cared if he set himself on fire, otherwise he could do what he wanted. He’d ended up watching a lot of movies on cable. Breakfast Club, The Big Green and Blues Brothers seemed to constantly be on. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t play with him when Jake and Elwood were on the screen. Puck still likes their attitude, if not their suits. And he still watches movies he’s seen five hundred times when he needs a hug, because there’s no one that’ll actually be willing to hug him.

Knowing that he’s not going to fall asleep any time soon Puck groans his frustration into his pillow for a minute, then gets up. He wants to watch a comfort movie. He could watch it on the computer in the tiny study room that’s really more of a closet, but that would mean sitting straight up in the barely padded computer chair the whole time. If he watches something in the living room he can slouch. Not to mention he’s got nearly triple the hardcopy DVDs compared to the amount he has downloaded. Diablo takes up a lot of hard drive room, and so do Sarah’s games.

Tonight he picks Ironman. Tony Stark is pretty badass. It’s no wonder he gets all the girls he wants. Shit, he could probably get Rhodey if he wanted to. Stark is just that awesome, that straight men would drop everything to be gay for him. Puck’s even heard that in the comics his freakin’ suit falls in love with him. Puck has no intentions of reading the comics, but he saw Ironman 2 in the theatre last month, and there’s no way it’s not going to be a franchise. The crazy robot sexing will probably be in the fourth or fifth, once the series completely loses it’s shit. Kinda like how the tenth Friday The 13th had Jason in fucking outer space.

Puck settles on the couch as the backstabbing asshole otherwise known as Obadiah Stane steps forward to receive Tony’s award. It’s not long before he’s shivering. The air conditioning is on high, as it always is from April to October. Apparently if you’re postmenopausal you need frigid air to live. All Puck knows is that he shouldn’t have to wear hoodies when it’s the first week of summer vacation, but he feels like he’s freezing to death in his typical sleepwear of a wifebeater and boxers. He tugs his boxers down his thighs as far as they’ll go and tells himself to man up. 

It’s a solution that works for approximately two point five seconds. Then Puck sighs, pauses the movie and gets his blanket from his room, as well as the other things he’s going to want if he’s pulling an all nighter. He puts the bag of chips and the can of orange crush on the coffee table and the phone by his hip. Even though it’s two in the morning Puck’s willing to bet at least half of Glee club is still awake. They’re teenagers, they’re supposed to be night owls.

It’s not much later that Puck’s got his phone in hand. For about the fiftieth time this year Puck types out the two words. If his phone was a little smarter it could probably autofill them. That’s how autofill works, right? It recognises the things you type in most often and knows that ‘su’ probably means supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. If he had some freaky future phone that could sense moods it would definitely autofill. Puck always feels the same when he types out those five letters and one apostrophe. Nervous, determined, and like he might hurl. 

And he always feels the same when he deletes the text. Like a fuckin’ coward. Puck’s thumb jams against the hard plastic surface of the delete button six times and he hates himself a little more with each press. Puck hates cowards more than anyone, more than cops, or knowitalls or hockey players. He never wanted to be any of those things. He’ll decapitate himself with the blade before he puts skates on his feet, he purposely failed a class last year, and his rep would never let The Man accept him. But he is a coward, and there’s no way to deny it.

On screen Tony Stark is telling the crowd of reporters that he wants them to all sit on the floor. Puck knows the entire movie by rote. Instead of reciting the dialogue Puck’s focused on the two words on his screen.

I’m gay.

He keeps them hovering until Dumm-E sprays Tony’s faulty repulsors with a fire extinguisher goo. The he presses delete six times, just like every other time since he realised in freshman year. He can’t bring himself to tell Finn.

There are a dozen people he could tell, literally. Puck could belt out Big Gay Al’s song from the Southpark musical. A few verses of I’m Super come September and he might get a little crap from Santana and Matt but they wouldn’t mean it. Mr Schue has to create a safe space. Kurt sure as hell wouldn’t care, neither would Rachel.

Even outside Glee club there are a few people. Sarah’s young and still open minded. Their rabbi likes Rachel’s dads, so he would listen. Fuck knows he could tell Pillsbury, or call a toll free line, if he wanted to be completely whiny and over the top about it.

The problem is Puck doesn’t want to tell Rachel, or Schue, or Sarah. He wants to tell Finn. Puck’s known him for longer than Sarah’s been alive. Telling anyone other than him first would be completely wrong. And each time he starts to tell Finn he can’t help but remember piss balloons and refusing to sing Gaga. It doesn’t matter that Puck’s not that guy anymore, that he knows Finn isn’t. Shit will change, once he tells Finn. So Puck deletes the texts before they can be transmitted, or throws the conversation into a tailspin, and hates himself a little more each time. He’s a closeted jock with no father figure, how goddamn pathetically stereotypical is that?

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

About a week into summer vacation Puck wakes up to three texts. Well, texts of interest. The actual count is somewhere around thirty. It’s possible that for the last few months he’s been screening his texts. Puck’s not the most popular guy at McKinley, but he’s popular enough to get texts from the upper half of the school. He doesn’t answer most of them. Oddly enough, that seems to be the attitude people want him to have. The less Puck answers the more the masses text. The ones he does answer are from Glee club, mostly. When those guys want shit from him it’s usually shit he wants to do.

The first, from Matt says **a bunch of the guys are coming over. be here. noon.** The second, from Mike says **going to Matt’s?** The third, from Brittany says **you were a cloud in my dream.**

Puck puts his phone back on his side table. He’ll answer them, but none of them are emergencies, and he woke up with wood. When he’s eighty he’ll look back and regret every erection he didn’t use, and alone in his room with the sun streaming in there’s no reason to not use this one. He gets a good grip and thinks about nothing in particular, just dicks and that guy from Green Day’s mouth, and maybe someone coming on his chest.

After he’s done wiping up with the roll of toilet paper he has for just this reason, he rolls onto his side to get his cell. Puck texts **prolly wont be there by noon** to Matt, **yeah** to Mike, and **sounds great** to Brittany because it’s freakin impossible to not pander to her. She’s like some weird combo of little sister and hot exhibitionist that makes everyone be nice to her at all times. Except Sylvester. But Sylvester’s an evil bitch. She probably kicks puppies too.

Puck considers having breakfast but decides against it for a few reasons. It’s already 11:50. Sitting down and eating will add at least twenty minutes onto how long it’ll take him to get ready. The only cereal they have left is generic cocoa puffs. For the most part Puck doesn’t mind never having name brand things, but the cocoa puffs taste like dust. Lastly, it’s possible Matt will have booze. In that case having a full stomach only means he’ll need to drink more to get the same effect.

Before Puck takes off for the afternoon he checks in on Sarah. The daycare Connie Gette is running at the end of the street is definitely illegal. She’s got way too many kids for it to meet guidelines. He doesn’t know what the maximum actually is, but there’s no way it’s almost twenty. Also, Puck knows his mom pays Connie in services. He shovels for her in the winter, and mows the lawn in the summer, and neither are legal tender. But when he clomps down the stairs Sarah’s having fun reading to a three year old. Puck interrupts to remind her of his cell number in case there’s a sudden problem. She rolls her eyes the whole time because she’s ten and invincible, of course she knows his number. He recites it a second time to Connie, even though he’s about ninety five percent sure if there was an actual problem she’d call his mom. But he can’t go to Matt’s with a light heart or clear conscious without doing do.

There are three cars in the drive when he gets there. Puck recognises two of them. Finn is here, and so is Jamie from the football team. Puck gets Matt inviting him. He’s a decent guy, not one of the jerkoffs like Azimio or Karofsky. He just has a voice like a cat in a blender. Puck takes the last spot on the drive, mentally snickering at anyone that might come after him and have to park a few blocks away, where there’s actually room on the street. He jogs up the drive and knocks on the door a few times. When there’s no answer he lets himself through the side gate. Like he figured, everyone is in the backyard.

Matt’s house is okay. Puck’s been inside a bunch of times since Matt moved here a few weeks into September freshman year. It’s nice enough, but nothing special. Matt’s backyard is amazing. Puck hasn’t exactly had a long conversation about real estate with Mr and Mrs Rutherford, but he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they bought the property for the backyard. Matt’s parents really push athletics. They push sports the way normal parents push academics, or Rachel’s dads push fame. The backyard is big enough for a swimming pool, a sandpit for jumping into, and a trampoline. The right side of the fence is lined with sheds which hold every piece of equipment known to man, from pogo sticks to a hockey net to water skis. And on the far side of the fence is a massive field that has no reason to be in the middle of suburbia, which is useful for a pick up game of anything ever. It’s athletics mecca.

There’s not one unknown face matching the car in the backyard. There’s four. They must have carpooled, unless the asian guy is Mike’s cousin. The eight of them are playing a bastardised version of badminton that looks awesome, and dangerous, and awesome because it’s dangerous. From what Puck can tell without asking, it looks like the goal of the game is to be the one to keep the birdie in the air, while the other seven fight you for it. Puck can’t help cracking up when the redheaded -fire engine red, obviously dyed- stranger trips Finn and his best friend eats grass.

The game stops as everyone turns to look at him. Well, everyone except Mike, who’s helping Finn up. Matt grins. “About time you got here. Lemme introduce my friends.”

The redhead nods. “Yeah. Let him. Seeing as he hasn’t yet. Said it was a waste of time when everyone wasn’t here.”

“Everyone’s here now? No Artie?”

Mike and Finn look a little guilty. “Ultimate frisbee doesn’t really work for him, right?”

Matt ignores the question about invitations and replies defensively to the redhead. “I hate introductions. Always makes me feel like I should have a damn talking stick.”

The taller of the two black guys snorts. “Your school actually has them?”

“Are you kidding? No one wants to hear anyone’s opinion at McKinley.”

“This is Hayden, Travvie, Easton and Aaron.” They each gesture in some way. “This is Puck, Finn, Mike, and Jamie.” Puck returns the favour, as do the other guys. “They’re from my school. They’re from my dance lessons.”

“Dance lessons?” Jamie asks. Puck doesn’t know why the wide receiver bothers to ask. Everyone knows that Matt has a different lesson for every day of the week.

“Yeah. Six weeks and I’ll be a pop and lock champion.”

Mike laughs. “No one can ever beat me.”

“I don’t see you taking lessons.”

“I have Asian camp in three weeks.”

“Excuses, excuses. So back to smash-minton? Or something else?”

Travvie answers by tackling Easton. It’s good enough for Puck, who dives for the birdie. Aaron lands half on top of him, plastic grid of his racket pressing on Puck’s forehead. Puck laughs and squirms out from under him. This is just what he needed, some nice old fashioned good humoured violence as entertainment.

They mess around until Puck’s shirt is more sweat than fabric, and Hayden is spread eagle on the thick grass, moaning that he’ll never move again. They all do, but just to the gazebo for the shade it provides. Jamie runs inside to get a case of soda, and Mike starts to ask questions about the dance lessons. Puck’s not sure how attached the guy is to his Asian camp, but he’s interested enough in the lessons to not notice the skin under his nose is smeared in dried brown blood, even when he uses the edge of his yellow shirt to wipe his face and the blood leaves a stain.

Matt guzzles his Coke down the instant Jamie hands him the can, then continues talking. “You know what the hilarious thing is? One of the performance pieces is a mashup of about five Beyonce songs.”

Puck snorts as Jamie guffaws. Even Mike is laughing, and Puck happens to know that that event was a turning point in his life. The four dance guys are looking at them, confused. Finn grins and speaks for them all. “Kurt would love that.”

“Who’s Kurt?”

“Our friend.”

“His almost step brother.”

“Why didn’t you invite him?”

Matt shrugs. “He’s super gay. I didn’t think he’d have fun.”

Puck clenches his fist around his Coke, hard enough that the can dents. Both sentences Matt spoke are true. Kurt is super gay, although as far as anyone in Glee knows he doesn’t have a boyfriend yet. Puck’s pretty sure if one of them found out all of them would know within the half hour. It’s also true that there’s not a chance that Kurt would have had fun playing smash-minton. They’re all covered in grass stains, and there’s not a single one of them that won’t be bruised tomorrow. Kurt would have mourned his clothes and winced at his marred skin. Literally speaking, Puck has to agree with Matt. But in general, it pisses him the fuck off. The way Matt phrased it makes it sound like the two are connected. And _that_ is complete bullshit. Puck happens to know that there’s no correlation between enjoying playful violence and wanting to suck dick.

“I’m-” he starts.

“What’s that?”

Nope. Can’t say it. Again. For the thousandth fucking time, Puck can’t say it. Not because Jamie’s here. The occasional dumpstering aside -which over half the people in the backyard are guilty of- he’s never done anything homophobic. Not because Matt’s other friends are here. Puck would bet they’re similarly decent people. The word just won’t come.

“I’m bored,” he says instead. “We should drag the trampoline beside the house, and jump out the second floor window.”

“What, like Home Alone three?”

Mike shakes his head. “The fact that you consider a movie with entirely different characters part of that franchise is appalling. Home Alone is Macaulay Culkin and Harry and Marv.”

“Also the kid unties the springy part so the bad guys fall through it into the frozen over pool. I don’t think that’s Puck’s plan.” Matt points out.

It takes everyone to drag the trampoline to the side of the house. From where they’re standing it looks pretty centred. Still not sure if that’s safe enough, Matt volunteers to run inside and see how things look directly out the window.

“You should move it a foot to the left!” Matt yells. A quieter but distinctly more upset “shit!” follows. About thirty seconds after that Puck hears the door in the side of the house open.

“Boys, come in for a second.”

They go inside. Nine teenage boys take up a lot of room in the kitchen, but somehow Mr Rutherford still takes up more. He is not happy. Puck’s not used to concerned father figures. He slips halfway behind Easton and hopes that no one notices.

“That could have been so dangerous. You could have broken a bone, or torn a muscle. If you’d landed badly enough, you could have been paralysed. That’s _not_ what that trampoline is meant for.”

“Sorry Mr Rutherford.” At least half the room says it. Puck doesn’t, but his mouth is about an inch from Easton’s afro, so he’s willing to bet Matt’s dad doesn’t see the lack.

“Now, I’m not going to kick you all out. And I’m not going to demand you dismantle the trampoline. But when you’re on my property, I’m responsible for you, so I’m keeping the blinds open.”

As far as punishment goes, it’s really nothing at all. Especially not when once they get back outside and Mike suggests they play frisbee with the hoola hoops he saw in the shed. They need to hop the fence to do that, which puts them out of sight.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

“So I talked to Karen. She says we can have the cabin this week.”

Sarah throws her arms into the air and shouts her excitement. Her grip on her spoon is loose enough that it goes flying. Puck laughs before leaning back on the back legs of his chair. Just before the balance is off enough that Puck topples he’s far back enough that he can open the utensils drawer. His hand fishes blindly, but the cutlery has been in the same place as long as he’s been alive, and he knows what a spoon feels like. It’s not that difficult to grab another for her.

“One of you will have to find that later,” Mom warns them.

Puck nods. The mac and cheese will go moldy if they don’t find it. Puck done a few science experiments in his life. Most things start to smell when they start to rot. He can’t remember fuck all about the periodic table, but he still remembers what rotting chicken smells like.

“This week?”

“Yeah. That’s what she said.”

“But today’s June thirtieth. We’d be there on the fourth.” It doesn’t make sense to Puck. It’s the best day of the summer. Why would Karen be willing to give that up?

“Yay! Fireworks!” Sarah’s arms go up a second time, this time thankfully leaving the spoon on her placemat.

“Yes, we would be. I’m not sure why she’d let us borrow it then. But lets face it Noah, we have no idea why she gives us the cabin a week every summer. Once you go that far, what’s one step further?”

“Some people are just Hufflepuffs,” Sarah says before digging her spoon into the heart of the pile on her plate. Puck’s not really sure how that explains the situation, but then he’s only watched the movies. Goblet of Fire was the only one that even mentioned Hufflepuff.

“Just pack up after dinner. Noah, make sure you take lots of sunscreen. You know you had that skin cancer scare.”

If Puck rolls his eyes at her she’ll smack his knuckles with the handle of her knife. That doesn’t mean he can’t fight back verbally. “Ma, it was a birthmark. And you made me shave my ‘hawk.”

“Better a bald head than your skin rotting off.”

“Ewww,” Sarah contributes.

“Oh, and tell me now, before it gets too late to phone parents. Any friends you want to join us?”

Puck only has to think about it for a second. Once, when he was nine, he invited Finn. Ms Hudson actually let him go. Puck had been thrilled, no questions asked. He’s old enough now to look back and know it happened because Finn hated her boyfriend at the time and she needed some private time to assess her priorities. Which probably isn’t too far from the situation these days either. Not that Finn hates Burt. He did get himself kicked out of the house though, and she could probably spend the time talking to Burt and Kurt about what the next step is, if living together isn’t going to work.

“No, I’m good.”

If he invites Finn, he’ll spend the whole week thinking about telling him. If _anyone_ comes, he’ll spend the whole week thinking about telling them. And Puck won’t, and he’ll manage to not tell them in the worst way. Dumb shit happens when he aborts the Coming Out mission. Like the time Puck got Artie stoned to tell him he should film a short about closeted jocks and instead ended up suggesting they have crawl-with-your-arms races around Artie’s entirely hardwood floored house. Artie thought it was hilarious, and he was also winning heavily before Artie’s mom found them. She thought Puck was making fun of him. He got kicked out, despite Artie’s protests, and he’s never allowed over again. Like the time Puck pushed Finn into a snowbank instead of finishing his sentence, and a jagged icicle scratched his face bad enough to make Finn bleed. He had a bandaid on his face for days. Like the time Puck got Quinn drunk so she wouldn’t be as cruel as she was capable of when he asked her for advice on how to tell her boyfriend and ended up having sex with her. Dumb shit is even worse at the beach, because the closest hospital is at least a half hour away. He doesn’t want any of his friends to get permanently hurt because he wusses out in the most endangering ways possible.

“I’m not asking anyone either. All my friends will be jealous next week.” Sarah’s got this tone in her voice, like making her friends jealous is just as good, or better, than fireworks. Puck doesn’t like it. As far as he knows, she’s got a medium sized group of friends, but she’s not the top of the playground. Puck really hopes she doesn’t end up popular. His sister doesn’t need to be another Quinn-Santana-Brittany-Carmen-Rosalee.

“Family vacation it is then.”

Less than twelve hours later they’re in the car. The trunk is crammed with three suitcases, cases of soda, and the few beach toys they own. Puck has the left window seat, Sarah has the right. The cooler is separating them. It’s full of all the food they need for the next week. It took Puck ten minutes to drag it down the sidewalk. The bottom is scraped to crap after so many years of use. If they get into a car accident one of them will be crushed to death. Mom’s a pretty good driver though, so probably not.

Puck doesn’t suggest a travel game, and Sarah doesn’t ask. They’ve got a week of bonding coming up, now it’s time to doze. Or at least is it for him. Sarah’s a lot more used to early hours in the summer. He turns up his iPod volume a little more so he can’t hear the radio channel Mom is playing and lets himself drift.

He wakes up from the bounce caused by suspension killing ‘driveway’. The cabin is nice on the inside, colourful on the outside, but it has no useable yard at all. The backyard is a small porch and three steps leading to a decommissioned outhouse half hidden by trees. Puck’s got some nightmarish memories of needing to pee in the middle of the night. It was always a game of do I need to pee more than I need to not be eaten by shadow-monsters. Karen only added on a bathroom when he was eleven, late enough that his psyche was already completely fucked up. The front yard is more trees, three more steps, and a ground comprised entirely of massive rocks. Ripping open the bottom of the car is a matter of when, not if, Puck’s sure of it.

Everything looks familiar, of course. The two windchimes hanging from the awning, the rich green moss that grows on the rocks thanks to nearly constant warm shade, the slivers of other cabins he can see between the leaves on either side of the yard. This is the tenth year Puck’s been here, and none of it’s changed. Puck hopes everything is still the same when he’s forty. He hopes it’s all the same, and that he has a job with a malleable schedule and a high enough wage that he can timeshare with Karen and her husband.

The first time Mom’s boss shared her cabin was when he was six and Sarah was a newborn. His piece of shit useless father had only been gone a few months. Karen took pity on them. She rearranged the schedule so his mom had seven consecutive days off, and offered her a chance to relax, and Puck a chance to play. Karen came with them that first year. She took turns taking care of them both so his mom could sleep, or cry, or whatever it was that suddenly single parents did. Puck doesn’t know details. He was six then, and he’s never asked. ‘How much did you cry?’ doesn’t have the same sense of nostalgia as ‘what was the first flavour of ice cream I had at Rocky’s?’.

“Who’s helping me carry in the cooler?” He could drag it into the cabin the way he dragged it out of the house, but he doesn’t want to. The very idea of ripping up all the moss makes him feel guilty. He hardly ever feels guilty for the things he does do.

With Sarah’s help they get it a few inches off the ground for the walk to the cabin and up the steps. Once it’s inside Puck drags it the rest of the way to the kitchen himself. The he occupies himself with unpacking the cooler, as Sarah hauls in the suitcases and Mom gets the trunk miscellania.

One of the things Pucks likes most about cabin life is that people with cabins know what life is about. Mainly, being with other people. The cabin is smaller than Puck’s house. His house has three bedrooms, it’s meant for three people. Four, if he happened to have a second parent. This cabin has also three bedrooms. One has two sets of bunkbeds, one has a queen bed and a bunkbed, and the last has a king bed, which fits three comfortably. And then there’s the couch, and a few sleeping bags jammed under it. The cabin comfortably sleeps twelve, and could probably fit up to twenty five, with a combination of bed sharing, floor sleeping, and porch sleeping. It makes Puck think about graduation parties, and if he could convince eleven sets of parents to let their kids go for a week unsupervised.

As it is now though, they each take their own room. Puck takes the bunk bed room, his mom takes the queen. Sarah, of course, has the king. By the end of the week it’ll be staked out like her own miniature house; books in one spot, sketchbook in another, package of melty chocolate chip cookies in another. Last year she didn’t even hang her wet bathing suit on the line strung over the porch, just draped it on the side of the bed she wasn’t using.

Puck’s happy with the bunk room. It’s always treated him well, aside from the few years he wasn’t tall enough to reach the chain cord on the exposed lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling. The decoration is simple. The walls and ceiling are painted a vintage eighties shade of blue. The floor is navy blue linoleum. The metal bunk beds are spotless, because even at eight Puck was smart enough to know stickers didn’t peel off, and property damage meant he might never get to come here again.

The most interesting thing in the room is a cluster of hats with pub logos on them. They’re mounted to the wall, and the cluster seems to get bigger every year. There’s at least fifteen states represented. Puck is sure they all have great stories attached. You don’t go somewhere called Filthy McNasty’s in Fort Worth Texas without having a good night. Next year, when they make it to Nationals -they _will_ make it to Nationals- Puck will sneak into a pub and buy a hat. He’ll even write up a report of the adventure before leaving both on the bunkbed on the last day.

Once all the tiny packets of salt Puck stole from Mcdonalds are in an ashtray beside the fridge, he joins the rest of his family in the living room. Mom’s already setting up her laptop on the table that takes up nearly half the room. She looks up to ask “so. Nap, food, or beach?”

“We can nap and eat on the beach,” Puck points out. The bait would need to be a lot better than a nap to get him away from the beach. Even if it is ten in the morning. He can sleep next week.

“Noah’s right,” Sarah adds.

“Have fun. I’m going to work on my novel.”

Puck resists the urge to point out that she only works on the novel one week a year. Being an asshole here seems way worse than being an asshole at home. Instead he goes into his temporary room, closes the heavy duty curtain that acts like a door, and digs in his suitcase for a pair of swim shorts. And the sunscreen, because Mom will shit a brick if she doesn’t see him rubbing it into his skin before he leaves the cabin.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck doesn’t want Sarah to grow up to be a slutty manipulator. He’s made his bed, and if the sheets are maybe a bit grimy, well he’s used to it by now. The same can’t be said about his sister. It’s not that he wants her to be all straight laced either. That way lies constant pressure and almost inevitable failure, unless she converts to Catholicism and becomes a nun. Puck just wants her to find a comfortable middle. Where she kisses everyone and maybe gives it up on the second date, but doesn’t sleep with adults and get paid for it. Where she knows how to lie and embellish, but doesn’t have to hurt people, or do it all the time.

There’s not much Puck can do about the first until she gets her first girlfriend or boyfriend. The second though- he can make ability to read people about fun, not about manipulation. He’s been doing it for a while, actually.

“I spy a librarian with a brain injury. It’s given her dyslexia or something, so she can’t read. Some of her favourite books have been made into movies, but it’s not enough. She came to the beach so she could figure out what to do with the rest of her life.”

Sarah scans the beach front. This late in the morning it’s a sea of people on blankets and folding chairs. Finally she tilts her head. “Her?” She asks, pointing.

“Why?” Puck asks. She’s right, he just wants to see how much she’s thought it through.

Sarah smiles. “Why means yes. Because she’s got a cassette player like she’s listening to old books on tape, and because she’s got her hair in a bun, and because her sunglasses are that weird kind that people get when they have prescriptions. And because she’s staring at the water looking sad. I spy an obsessive compulsive boy with a tapeworm.”

Puck looks around. It takes him a minute before he gets it. There’s a family of blondes spread over a large fleece blankets. Two little kids, a teenager, and parents. The parents and the little kids are eating ice cream with expressions of great joy. The teenager isn’t. He’s eating his like his tiger tiger cone tastes like cardboard, like it’s just a chore. He’s perfectly tanned, and his shaggy hair is evenly trimmed, and he’s got abs anyone on the football team would kill for. If Puck had to guess he’d guess the guy’s actually bulimic and stressed that he’s eating crap that’ll ruin his perfect physique if he doesn’t get the chance to barf it up. But he can see where Sarah’s coming from. Her descriptions are always more whimsical than his. He nods towards Blondie and she agrees.

“I spy a girl that’s got an unrequited crush on a comic book nerd.”

Sarah snorts. “That’s easy. That girl’s wearing novelty Hulk sunglasses and a Wonder Woman bathing suit. Who pairs DC and Marvel like that? I spy two brothers that found out on Maury they have different fathers, because of a freak threesome and broken condoms. One’s a werewolf, and the other is a werejaguar. So they can only meet in neutral locations, with a guardian to supervise.”

Puck spots them pretty easily. Two redheads in lime shorts with a blond, all eating Drumsticks. It’s just about Puck’s least favourite form of ice cream. Nuts are great, but sharp and salty shouldn’t be mixed into sweet and melty. It fucks with his tongue.

Puck offers his next judgement of character and as Sarah scans the crowd Puck returns to the twins. He can’t help it. They’re exactly his type; tall and skinny. And who doesn’t have a twin fantasy? It would be awesome if one of them fucked him, and the other one made him suck his dick. They’re twins, their dicks would be identical. Huge, probably, enough to make his jaw stretch and his asshole ache. But they wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t slow down to make it easier, wouldn’t listen as he begged for someone to please touch him because he was a toy for them, and-

Puck quickly lays on the towel. Stomach down, of course. “I’m gonna tan. Play in the water, ‘kay?”

“I don’t think mom wants you to tan.”

“Rat me out later. Water now.” Puck doesn’t care that it’s hypocritical to freak out about getting a boner while sitting beside his sister while he imagines fucking two brothers at the same time. It’s different, because this is real life and that’s a fantasy. In a fantasy he could fuck a camel and it wouldn’t matter.

In the middle of the afternoon Sarah starts to complain that she’s hungry. Puck reminds her they get concession stand food once a day, so if she wants cotton candy for the walk back to the cabin she’ll be shit out of luck. This vacation is planned down to the dollar. She insists, so Puck follows her out of the water and throws himself onto the sand.

“Double whatever you want, I’ll just have the same.”

“‘Kay.” She takes the twenty from the mesh pocket on the top of the cooler. It didn’t come that way, but the fabric pocket Mom superglued in is surprisingly handy, seeing as most bathing suits don’t have pockets.

She’s gone for a while. It’s not surprising, the lines are probably monstrous. Puck draws a grid in the sand with his toes, then looks around without intent. The beach is full of hot guys. The twins are eating Drumsticks again. Puck wonders idly if they eat them on a schedule. Maybe their cooler is full of ice and three boxes of Drumsticks, and they’re going to eat ten each before they leave for the day. Puck doesn’t want to sit down and share with them, but he wants to lick the chocolate off the lips of the one that’s smiling at the blonde. Maybe it’s time to text Finn and tell him.

Puck sees Sarah coming, but doesn’t bother to meet her halfway. The sand is hot at this time of day. By the time he gets his flip flops on she’ll already be at the perimeter of their towels. He smiles at her choices. Sarah’s got ice cream cones and a handful of change in one hand, two packets of thick cut fries in the other.

Instead of passing him half the food like a sane person, she opens the cooler with oddly nimble toes. Then she lifts three fingers from the waffle cones, probably in an attempt to drop the change inside the cooler. The ice cream cone that drops does so in almost slo-mo. Puck drops his phone to catch it. As she lunges forward to catch it herself her foot drags on the towel and she trips completely.

The fries are salvageable. The cones aren’t. She’s years too old to cry over spilled treats, but she looks pretty bummed. Puck hates seeing that look. “You can buy two more now. But if you do we don’t have enough for fries tomorrow. It’ll have to be sandwiches.”

Sarah doesn’t take long to think about it. “Ice cream now.”

“Okay, go. I’ll try to clean up.” And good luck he’ll have with that. Puck’s best bet is the double whammy of rinsing the towel in the water, and then moving their location. They’ll definitely have to move back towards the boardwalk, all the close-to-water spots were taken by noon. But dealing with slightly grainier sand is better than spending the next three hours making sure he doesn’t accidentally step in sticky residue.

As he’s packing Puck notices something that makes his heart race. His phone is in a divot, the towel pressed into the sand. Sarah must have stepped on it. His right hand is sticky with melted ice cream so he picks it up with his left to make sure that the screen’s not cracked, or that not too many grains of sand are in the small gaps between buttons and casing. If it’s broken Puck’s totally fucked. There’s no way Mom will pay for a new one, she’ll say it’s what he gets for bringing his cell to the beach, like it’s not 2010 and he doesn’t have to have it on him at all times.

It’s undamaged, but something far worse has happened. The message has sent. The stupid message that he never meant to send is sent. Right now, hours away, Finn is being told **I’m gay**. Puck’s not ready for this. He’s so not ready for this he thinks he’s going to die. He reopens the lid of the cooler in just enough time to puke into it. Then he grabs the dirty towel and his shirt and his sister’s shawl and the two pool noodles and the handle and runs up to the boardwalk, huge plastic cooler smashing against his calf with each step.

Puck nudges her out of the line, for values of nudging that include bodychecking. “We need to go back.”

“But we’re always here ‘til sunset.”

“I’m sorry Sarah. I can’t take care of you right now.”

“I’m eleven.”

“Daycare rules, and you know it.” She gets to be a latchkey kid when she starts seventh grade. Until then, someone’s gotta take care of her, and right now it’s supposed to be him.

“Whatever. But why are we leaving? It’s not even three!”

Fuck, why is she doing this now? Why _now_ when he seriously cannot fucking handle being the older brother, or the one with the plans and rules, or anything except a guy losing his fucking mind. “Seriously Sarah. I can’t-”

“We can walk back, but only because you look like you’re gonna die. Gimme some of that stuff.”

Puck ends up carrying only the half empty cooler. He leaves it on the mossy stones. He can wash off the sodas and rinse it out later. He doesn’t say a word to Mom or Sarah once he gets inside, just kicks off his flip flops and goes to his room. He can hear his mom asking Sarah what happened, why they’re back so early. A plastic folding door is pretty low on a scale of sound-proofness. Sarah doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t exactly tell her anything on the walk back to the cabin. Puck expects his mom to wrench open the door and ask him, but she doesn’t. For once she leaves well enough alone.

After a minute Puck can hear the clicking of another folding door sliding closed, and then water running. He should be in line for the shower. He’s covered in damp sand just as much as Sarah is, but he can’t bring himself to care. Puck doesn’t have to uncurl himself from the fetal position in the middle of his bunk. When the sand dries it’ll flake off without him moving a muscle.

Puck waits all afternoon for Finn’s reply. After a dozen false alarms from friends and acquaintances that he doesn’t bother to read beyond the name of the contact, it finally comes. It’s 9:17. Only Finn could go that long without checking his texts. Puck exhales jaggedly. Breathing; the most useless way of preparing oneself for disaster. 

**I dunno who stole this phone but the owner will track u down and kick ur ass.**

It’s quickly followed by

**unless ur a friend. then hahaha. he’ll still prolly kick ur ass.**

Puck wants to flip a table. The only things in the room are the two bunk beds, which are about a thousand pounds each, and some pillows and blankets. There’s nothing smashable, which is fucking fortunate for Karen and her husband because in this moment Puck couldn’t stop himself. Who replies like that? What kind of massive gaping asshole replies like that?

In one explosive moment that makes up for not moving for seven hours Puck leaps off the bed and pulls the first shirt from the top of his suitcase, and his iPod from where he left it on the top bunk. The curtain clicks so fast it almost whirs as he pushes it aside. Sarah’s watching something on her own iPod, sitting in the middle of the king bed. She doesn’t even look up as he jams his feet in his flip flops.

Mom, on the other hand, has a snarky word or two to say about it. “Finally feel like joining the rest of us?”

“Don’t,” he growls.

“Wow.” She reaches into the pocket of the hoodie she’s somehow managing to wear in eighty five degree heat. She pulls out a package of cigarettes. “Go sit on the back porch and calm the hell down. We’re on vacation, remember?”

Puck follows her orders as far as taking the pack and going out the back door. Then he switches things up by sneaking around the side of the cabin. The trees are so close that he could easily get stuck. Mercedes would never make it. The car is unlocked and the spare key is in the glove compartment. Puck doesn’t really think about what he’s doing. He just starts the car and drives the two hours back to Lima, listening to System of a Down the whole time. Screaming _attack attack attack_ and _we’re going down in a spiral to the ground, no one, no one’s going to save us_ and _liar! killer! demon!_ doesn’t make things better, but it keeps him comforted enough to stay on the road.

Eventually he’s in suburbia again. Puck parks the car in front of the Hudson house and doesn’t for a second reconsider what he’s about to do. He lets himself in with the spare key Carole didn’t make him give back after the Quinn stuff. She’s really a good person. Puck hopes she’s happy with Kurt’s dad.

The house is dark, but Puck’s been over a million times. He knows the layout as well as he knows his own house. Without so much as knocking a fibre of carpet out of place he finds the stairs. The stairs are carpeted, they don’t make a sound as Puck storms up them to Finn’s room. Finn’s sleeping on top of his blankets in his underwear. The distant observer in Puck’s brain can’t blame him. The Hudson house doesn’t have air conditioning and Finn sleeps in the attic. Of course he’s sweaty. The action part of Puck picks up the first object he can reach and chucks it at his stupid, _moronic_ best friend.

Finn bolts upright, limbs twitching reflexively, eyes looking for the threat. The second his lizard brain realises noise won’t result in instant death he starts spluttering.

“You’re an asshole!” Puck shouts. He waits a beat for the talking part of his brain to say more, but when it seems satisfied that it’s described the situation perfectly he walks out of the room and back down the stairs. He spent two years freaking out just for Hudson to think he’s fucking joking? Yeah, asshole pretty much covers it.

Finn chases him down. Puck’s got his hand on the door of the car when Finn bursts out the front door. His hastily thrown on jeans are inside out. “Are you okay? Are you sober? Where are you going?”

Puck doesn’t bother with the first two. “Back to my mom and my sister at the cabin.”

“You drove two hours to call me an asshole?” Of course Finn remembers that. He always remembers the stupidest, most useless things.

“You pissed me off.”

“Last I checked I was still mad at you for knocking up my girlfriend.”

Puck crosses his arms so he doesn’t shove the fucker across the lawn. “Yeah, well, fuck you. You’re a homophobic asshole and I pity Kurt.”

“What?”

Finn looks genuinely confused, but Puck doesn’t care. “You heard me.”

“I’m not homophobic.”

Puck rolls his eyes. “It is fucking homophobic to laugh and assume it’s a joke when someone tells you they’re gay.”

“Wait, what? That was you? That _was_ you and it wasn’t a joke?”

Fuckin’ asshole. Puck shakes his head and opens the car door. He doesn’t need this crap. Not at eleven at night during his vacation. Not ever. He should have just told Kurt. At least Hummel wouldn’t have thought it was a goddamn joke.

Finn’s still standing on the lawn as he shrinks in the rear view mirror. Puck plants his gaze firmly on the road in front of him, sticks the earbuds back in his ears, and turns System of a Down back on. Puck needs to be calm by the time he gets back to the cabin, because chances are high that his mom is going to verbally kick his ass for taking the car without permission. And if that happens while he’s pissed his natural reaction will be to argue back, and that way disaster lies.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck doesn’t look up from his conversation with Santana when first a shadow, then feet move past his left side. This isn’t McKinley, where the periphery is full of potential assholes with slushies. This is the beach, and the only way Puck’s going to get ice in the face is if some poor kid with a overpriced Pepsi from the concession trips on his shovel.

He does look up when the feet turn into knees that are kneeling in front of him. You don’t get a lot of private space on a beach in July, but the general rule is the perimeter of your towel or cluster of chairs, plus a foot in all directions. The knees are _on_ his towel.

“Uh, hey?” Any other words die on Puck’s tongue when he sees the body in question is hot estranged werewolf. This close it’s obvious his hair is dyed red, he’s got brown roots.

“You stared at my friends all day yesterday, and you were doing it again this morning. Don’t like fags on the beach, or you are a fag on the beach?”

“That’s a messed up word.”

The guy tilts his head slightly, smirking. “Don’t believe in reclaiming?”

“My best friend got kicked out of the house when he used it in front of his stepdad.” There are a few generalisations in his statement, but Puck doesn’t feel like going into all the details. Not with some random hot guy that’s accused him of stalking and hate crimes in the same sentence.

The guy smiles. “Gotta love straight activists. My twin, for example. Doesn’t give two shits about what me and Zack do. Not until someone else cares, and then bam, fist down their throat.”

“That’s your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend is a very boring word. Come on, come hang out with the rest of us Beach Gays. Build a sand hair salon with us. And might I say your swimming trunks are entirely fabulous?” He says it all in the least campy voice possible, smirk back on his face.

Puck snickers. He doesn’t have a problem with campy gay guys. Campy gay guys tend to be bitchy and hilarious with this core of steel and bravery because they know the average citizen is going to mess with them and they’ve got to be prepared. Kurt’s the perfect example. Making fun of the behavior is still funny.

“No, seriously. You’re here with that girl. Sister, maybe. I dunno. The gay that will one day adopt international children doesn’t assume the guy with the friend with a stepdad has a nuclear family. But yeah, it’s you two, and I’ve gotta imagine her sex jokes aren’t half as funny as mine. For example...what do gay horses eat? Haaaaay!”

Puck laughs for minute, then answers. “Yeah. Sarah. I’m Puck, which you haven’t actually asked yet.”

“I don’t need a name to know you’re hot. And obviously you feel the same. But I’m Liam, by the way, except to the people that call me Octo. And the guy that looks like me except doesn’t suck dick is Scottie. Well, he sucked dick that one time, since we’re twins and we’re supposed to be identical. Turns out orientation isn’t part of that. And before you get all indignant or whatever about should I be telling you that, lemme just say that a- he has stories he’ll love to tell about me, b- that was totally a pg retelling, c- if you can’t handle that you should reconsider moving to the Beach Gays towel.”

“I’ve heard things so dirty your brain would spontaneously develop OCD, dude.”

Liam grins. “See? I can be way more entertaining than your Sarah. She isn’t even here talking to you. So come hang out with us.”

Puck doesn’t see any reason not to. Sarah’s fine in the water, and the twins’ spot is only forty feet down the beach. He’ll be able to see her from there just as well. He grabs his cell from where he put it down automatically when he started a Real Life conversation, and after checking his shorts for level of wetness deposits it in the pocket this pair has. That done Puck follows the guy to his own spot. Liam sits on the Scooby Doo towel, and Scottie and Zach are nowhere to be seen so Puck shrugs to himself and sits on the Cleveland Browns towel. He’ll move when they come back.

“So, tell me about these hair curling stories.” Liam requests as he stretches out and props his sandy feet on Puck’s knee.

Puck grins in case Liam’s looking. “My best friend is a huge exhibitionist. Can’t even get off if other people don’t know what’s going on. Never not had a threesome.”

“Ohh, that does have potential. He hot?”

“She, actually. Her name’s Santana.”

“You have sex with girls? Really? Man, Puck. Tell me you’re not closeted.”

“I came out to my best guy friend yesterday. He thought I was joking. He laughed.”

“What a putz.”

“Right?” It’s totally not just him being over sensitive.

“The next time you see him you should kiss him right on the mouth.”

It’s not like it’s a mentally scarring image. Finn’s tall and skinny, right in the comfort zone of Puck’s type. He never had an actual crush on him, not like Kurt did, but it’s easy enough to imagine fooling around with him, if Finn was just a sex robot without any feelings or preferences of his own. Still, it’s a fucking awful idea. “I’ve got a really bad history of impulse control with the guy. I...that would not be a good thing.”

“Whatever. I don’t know your life. Can’t tell you what to do. You got anyone that would believe you though?”

“What, you mean the one out guy at school? Yeah. I’ll talk to him once I get home, or when school starts. Whatever.”

“Okay. As long as your life isn’t _too_ tragic.” Liam rolls halfway over, the shift of his feet sprinkling sand on Puck’s knee. “Where the fuck are they? Really, it’s like they don’t want to meet to newest shiniest Beach Gay.”

“Probably buying another Drumstick.”

“Hah! You noticed that, did you? Wanna go check? Or, unless, do you have to stay on the sand until your Sarah gets back?”

“Nah. The boardwalk’s fine.”

Liam takes lead picking through the crowd on the beach. It’s a bit windy, the stairs are more like little hills of sand with a bit of wood underneath. Halfway up them Liam slowly leans in for a kiss, giving Puck enough time to dodge if he needs to. Darting away isn’t even a consideration in Puck’s mind. If some asshat heckles them he’ll deal with it after, but he won’t let it stop him now.

Puck’s leg doesn’t pop, because there’s a difference between being forced to watch Princess Diaries and actually believing in that bullshit. What does happen is Puck taking the opportunity to push his tongue into Liam’s mouth, where it’s greeted enthusiastically. Everything around them fades until the only things that matter are the few points of contact he has with Liam. Lips, one of Liam’s hands on his hip, big toe against the side of his foot.

When they finally take a break for air Liam’s lips are puffy. Puck’s feel wet. He never thought he had a spit kink, but there’s no denying the shiver that runs through him when he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Fuck the Beach Gays. Wanna go to my cabin?”

There’s nothing in the world that sounds better to Puck than going to Liam’s cabin and fooling around with him. Touching a guy’s dick is way better than becoming a billionaire -or getting a crazy suit of armour, or destroying an enemy, his brain adds uselessly. It hurts Puck right down to the soul to say “I can’t. I need to watch my sister.”

“Scottie and Zack will watch her.” Liam grins, sure he’s got the solution.

“Sorry. I’ve never even heard their voices. Can’t really put my sister’s well being in their hands. As much as I really wanna get my hand on you, I can’t leave the beach.”

“That’s fine. We can just make it a quickie.” Liam leans in for another wet kiss, and Puck gives himself a second to marvel. First gay hookup and the guy is kinky enough to want to fool around in the water with strangers in every direction. It’s like...boy Santana. How fucking lucky is he?

“Come on,” Liam says as he climbs the last few steps. “Come with.”

Now that they’re going up onto the boardwalk, not back down towards the water, Puck expects that Liam will drag him to the small concrete building that holds several changing stalls. Puck’s never actually used one. It’s a lot simpler to change at the cabin and walk down rather than getting fully dressed while still wet and sandy. They’re mostly for the day-trippers. That said, Puck knows for a fact that two people can fuck in a change room in a Wal-mart, so he and Liam can totally make it work.

They make it as far as the rinse showers. They’re set up like sections of a orange, five triangles with motion activated showerheads. Puck hasn’t used one in years, not since Karen installed her shower. Walking home sand covered isn’t that annoying if it’s only ten minutes. Liam pulls him to the wedge that’s facing the volleyball court on the other side of the boardwalk. It’s the least frequented thing on the whole stretch of beach. There isn’t even a net set up this year. The fact that there are no people there now apparently makes Liam comfortable enough to push Puck against the nearly hot metal wall and step in close. Puck’s mostly out of the oddly angled spray, but Liam’s hair darkens with the water before they start kissing.

Puck’s never been so grateful for elastic as when Liam’s fingers push between his stomach and waistband and the fabric gives. He’s had the thought a few times before, in pool cleaning gear with MILFs, and that time he was home with mono and Santana came over to entertain him because she’d already had it so many times her body didn’t even notice the germs. This time is different. This is his first time with the gender he actually wants. Puck didn’t picture losing his guy-virginity like this, but he’s got no interest in telling Liam to stop. He can’t even bring himself to break the kiss to tell Liam to stop jerking himself off, Puck’ll get to it in a minute. Everything’s too fast, and warm, and wet, and completely fucking awesome to stop for a strategy session.

They make out the whole time, keep the same open mouthed kiss going until Puck comes and throws his head back. It smashes into the metal, but the pain is nothing compared to an orgasm. The thunk is the loudest noise of the whole affair. Puck’s had plenty of experience in having a silent orgasm.

Liam either has a shorter afterglow period than Puck, or he’s got some Pillsbury-esque problems, because it only takes a second for him to raise his arms and push his sticky hands under the stream of water.

“You wanna come over and watch a movie after dinner? Like, after you have Sarah safely home and whatever?”

Puck blinks. Of all the post public loss of virginity sex conversations Puck could have imagined, this doesn’t make the top ten. “But we just hooked up.”

“Yeah.”

“And we both came.” Puck knows Liam did, even if he wasn’t paying much attention to things that weren’t _his_ dick and _his_ mouth. Liam would only have one come covered hand if he hadn’t fully enjoyed himself.

“Yeah.”

“And I’m leaving in four days.”

“Okay, I didn’t actually know that, but let’s go again with ‘yeah’.”

“So we’re not dating...”

“Obviously, yeah.”

“So I really don’t get what you want.”

Liam crocks his head. “Uh. To watch a movie? Look. I know you’re new. But gay guys have the monopoly on friends with benefits. We’re, collectively, really freakin’ great at fooling around then staying friends. So if you wanna hang out, we’re not gonna say no. We’re gonna say lets be friends. The general we, and the more specific me and Zack. So again- wanna watch a movie?”

It’d be stupid to make friends with the guy. Puck’s going back to Lima in four days. He could have fifteen gay friends in Columbus, for all the good it would do him at McKinley. Puck opens his mouth to blow him off, and the words that come out are “what’s better- Marvel or D.C.?”

“Whichever one did Fantastic Four. Johnny Storm was hot.”

Whatever. He’s allowed to be stupid sometimes.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

They always stop to get produce on the way home. Puck doesn’t remember whose idea it was to pull over the first year. He’d been far too busy listening to his book on tape. If he had to bet though, he’d say Karen. She knew Mom loved fresh fruit, she bought her a subscription to a fruit of the month club one year. He can easily imagine her wanting to give Mom one more thing to try to sustain her happiness. That Mom’s pulled over every summer after just proves Karen was right. A pail full of raspberries is a way to make vacation last.

In Puck’s experience there are three ways to get fresh fruit while driving home. The first is random guys with pick up trucks full of fruit. Their nationalities are questionable, but their fruit is tasty, and the Puckermans aren’t cops, so whatever. The second is going straight to the source; following the arrows when signs declare strawberry picking ahead. The last -and his mom’s favourite- is the farmer’s market. It’s about halfway home; a hippie co-op store that looks more like a hand constructed hut. The floors are planks of wood, for fucksakes.

This year they pass on strawberry picking. They’ve passed on it the last few years, actually. Getting the final sunset swim in is more important to Puck and Sarah than getting the picking experience is to Mom. Puck won’t miss walking up and down the rows crouched until his legs felt like they were cramping. He won’t miss trying to pluck the reddest and ripest berries and getting his hands sticky and stained. They only thing Puck will miss are the adorable baby spiders. It’s not a word he uses often, but spiders with bodies the size of punctuation marks make the cut.

When they get in around ten on Tuesday there’s already a vehicle parked in front of the house. A Navigator. It doesn’t make sense until Puck gets out of his seat and around the car and sees Finn sitting where the tiny strip of lawn meets their front door. It’s the same moment that Mom and Sarah see him.

Sarah’s interested, of course. Sarah likes Finn. He doesn’t treat her like a sister. Finn wasn’t there the first time Mom put Sarah in the water and her diaper swelled to three times the size, like a magic trick. It was so neat, for a moment, until Puck pictured Sarah falling over in the inch of water and her entire body bloating like that and he started crying because she was so so breakable and his kindergarten teacher said he was bad because broke things all the time. Finn doesn’t have to worry about taking care of her while knowing how incompetent he is, so he ends up treating her a lot better than Puck can.

“Why’s Finn here?”

His mother’s a lot more suspicious. “Does this have to do with you stealing the car? You remember you’re grounded, right?”

“I dunno. Maybe. And yes. Just let it start tomorrow, okay? Please? I need to have this conversation.” There’s a difference between wanting to and needing to, but he _does_ need to.

“Make it quick,” she replies.

Once the trunk is open Mom puts the inner tube under her arm then hands Sarah the pool noodles. Together they head towards the front door, leaving Puck to stand alone at the back of the car. Finn stands up and shuffles to the side to get out of their way, then keeps going. He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of Puck. He’s got this sadsack look on his face. Puck rolls eyes. Before Finn can say whatever it is he came here to say, Puck orders loudly “if we’re doing this you can at least carry some shit in. Grab the cooler.”

The cooler’s not any lighter on the way home than it was on the way out to the cabin. Going out it’s filled with soda and junk food and meat for barbecuing. Now they’ve got enough corn, peas, strawberries and whited skinned baby potatoes to feed an army. Finn handles it pretty easily though. He doesn’t even drag it, he actually carries it all the way inside, then deposits it in the corner beside the sink.

“Are we getting more stuff?”

Puck can hear the television being turned on. He smirks and nods his head towards the living room. “I think we’re bringing all the rest inside. There’s a lot of taped reality tv to catch up on.”

Two trips later and Finn’s standing with his hands crammed into his pockets, watching Puck lock the car. He’s got his determined face on, like when he tried to sell the football team on learning how to dance, like when he thought Beth was his and Quinn needed money, like a thousand times Puck’s seen over the years. Finn’s always been sure of how things should be, even if he has no real ambitions.

“How long were you sitting on my lawn?” Puck can easily imagine Finn camping out for days. It’s something he’d do.

“Fifteen minutes?”

“That’s it?”

“You forget dude, I know you. I called Sarah’s daycare and asked what day she was supposed to be back. And I know you leave as close to sunset as possible, but that you need to be able to get stuff at a fruit stand, and most stores close at 9. So halfway home by nine is now.”

Pretty impressive, really. Puck would tell him _good job_ if they were that kind of friend. Instead he goes straight to business. “So talk. You’ve obviously got shit to tell me, so talk.”

“One sec.” Finn jogs down to the Navigator and opens the driver door. A second later Kurt steps out. Kurt gives him his little royalty wave, the one with the scrunched together fingers. “He’s going to help.”

All of a sudden Puck feels a lot less impressed. “What’s this? Like when a white supremacist hires a black lawyer to argue their client would never have hate crimed anyone?”

“Hey. I never hate crimed you!”

“Can we sit somewhere that a million feet haven’t stepped on?” Kurt interrupts. “IE not on your front step?”

“This house doesn’t even have a front step. But Puck’s bed fits like four or five people sitting cross legged.”

Kurt boggles at him. “How do you know how many people fit in Puck’s bed?”

“Poker-and-shots games. We couldn’t play in the living room, his mom was around.”

Puck really just wanted to get this over with simply. Each complication they add is a little more annoying than the one prior. So it’s with a twitching eye that he makes his bed so Kurt will agree to sit on it. And it’s with a bit more sarcasm than is strictly necessary that he starts round two of the Finn’s Reaction To My Sexuality game. “Okay. Lets do this. Me being gay is a joke. Check. What’s next on the list? Wanna joke about how there’s no way that I’m a Jew? Or-”

Finn scowls. “Shut up. That was stupid, and I’m sorry. But I believed you as soon as you said it to my face. Texting it was dumb. How was I supposed to know that it was you?”

“You could have asked, for one thing.”

“Seriously, Finn,” Kurt adds.

“Okay. I agree. Stupid. I already said. So, apology accepted?”

Puck would _love_ to drag out Finn’s remorse. He made Puck feel shitty, and Puck’s instincts have always been to hit the enemy back twice as hard. But not accepting the apology is a dangerous impulse. Getting Finn to beg would be a beautiful serenade to his sense of revenge, yes. Logically though, it’s a really crap idea. The whole nightmare of last year puts a lot more in Puck’s Owing column than Owed. If Finn remembers that mid-plead for forgiveness it could really backfire.

“Accepted. You’re really fucking lucky I didn’t punch you in the nose though. Just sayin’.”

“You did break into my house and throw shit at me,” Finn points out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t bust your face for thinking I was a joke. So you came out on top, I’d say.”

Finn starts to reply and Kurt not so subtly elbows him. Finn closes his mouth. Puck can actually see the moment he decides to not pursue it on his face. “Okay. So past that, I just want to say congratulations on liking boys. Because I totally don’t care. For real. Burt got my head on right, and I’m totally better than that guy. Um, not Burt. Like, freshman me. You know what I mean. You like all the boys you want. And since I’m saying that now I won’t even have to wear a shower curtain this time.”

Puck wants to laugh. His irritation has faded almost completely. Finn’s just so damn hilarious when he’s overcompensating.

“Anyway, I’m going to hang with Sarah as you discuss, you know, gay stuff. Come get me when you’re done.”

Finn shimmies off the bed and heads for the door. Puck starts a friendly dismissive wave. There are a few things he wants to know, starting with where all the semi-closeted guys are. There have to be some boys that aren’t out to the general public, but are up for fooling around.

Kurt’s reaction overtakes his by far. “We’re not a hive mind! We don’t just all think the same gay thoughts at the same gay time.”

Finn pauses in the doorframe, looking hurt. “I know that. But there’s being gay in Lima stuff that I definitely don’t know, that you will.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “All you have to know is that you’ll be a virgin until college. I mean, I guess you’re not. But basically celibacy until we get out.”

“Come on Kurt. Just help him. You can complain at me later.” Then Finn closes the door, and it’s just Puck and Kurt.

“I honestly don’t know what he expects me to say to you. He outed you to me- just to me, don’t worry, and said he’d said stupid stuff and needed me to be here to make sure he didn’t say more stupid stuff. And now he’s not even in the room.”

Puck shrugs.

“I am very much not the mentor type. Is there anything you want to talk about? Like why you decided to come out? I think it’s great and brave, don’t get me wrong. But was there a particular reason?”

Puck shrugs again. “I’ve been gay awhile now. I just didn’t know how to tell Finn, and my brain got stuck on telling him first.”

“Hey, but you said it.”

“No. My sister stepped on my phone.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Don’t take that away from yourself. You could have denied it. He obviously would have believed you. But you stuck it out instead.”

They sit silently on his bed for a minute, then two. “Wanna go play with my sister?”

“Oh thank god, yes.” He’s off the bed before he’s even done speaking.

Kurt’s clearly the kind of person that needs activities. When he wakes up in the middle of the night he probably sews a shirt rather than watch tv mindlessly. Puck’ll have to remember that, if they’re going to be big gay best friends or whatever.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck hates being grounded.

It’s not that it’s boring as fuck. Unlike Mike, when Puck’s grounded he still has tv privileges. He just ends up watching crap talk shows and repeats of fall primetime that he was too busy to watch on their original air dates. And his comfort movies, of course. Not all that different than a normal sleepless night.

The problem with being grounded is that it’s lonely. Puck’s not allowed to leave the house unless there’s a fire or carbon monoxide. His phone is confiscated, tucked in beside his mom’s in her purse at work. The computer password’s been changed, and if Sarah tells him she gets grounded too, for collaboration. It doesn’t matter that in his first week of summer vacation he only left the house twice. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t answer at least seventy percent of his texts. It doesn’t matter that he rarely uses MSN and can’t even remember his AIM account. When it’s not his _choice_ to be a hermit, Puck can’t stop noticing how quiet everything is, and how alone he is.

Worse, being grounded makes Puck feel like a giant wuss. Mom’s not home. She doesn’t know if he’s following her rules. Puck could leave and get back five minutes before Sarah comes home for the day. Or he could use the home phone to talk to his friends. And yet he does everything she says, and nothing that she says he can’t. Jewish boy doing what his mother wants, just another cliche he fits perfectly.

The first morning Puck is finally free he goes to the Hudson house. It’ll be the test of if he and Finn are actually cool, without a bridge like Sarah or Kurt between them. If they’re not, better to know now so Puck can figure out if he wants to spend the next month trying to get back to their old friendship, or spend the next month cultivating something stronger with one of the other Glee guys.

He’s not expecting Kurt to answer the door. It’s why he foregoes a hello. “Why are you here?”

“Moron made a sandwich from the old salmon in the back of the fridge. Food poisoning in a saran wrapped dish, essentially. Carole had to work. I get to make sure he doesn’t fall down on his frequent trips to the bathroom. You can go home now, there’s no way he’ll be available for the rest of the day.”

Puck shrugs. “I’ll stick around for a bit. If that’s all you’re doing you must be bored. I just finished a week of bored. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“So lets say I take you up on your offer. What do you propose we do? It’s not as though you like the same things I do.”

“I challenge you to rummy!”

“Really?”

“I’m a master.”

“Aces high or low?”

“I usually play wraparound.”

Kurt smirks. “I’m in. Guaranteed twenties, you know how real men play.”

“Master, like I said. There should be like five decks in the junk drawer. Have you been here often enough to know where that is?”

“Yes. Go grab a cushion and get comfortable on the stairwell. I tried to use a bell system, but would you believe this house doesn’t have any bells?”

Seeing as no one Puck’s ever met had owned bells, the answer is probably yes. Lucky for him it’s rhetorical. He grabs a cushion from the living room couch and settles against the wall opposite Finn’s door as Kurt gets the cards. He comes up the stairs with the deck making the pocket of his tight pants bulge, a can of orange soda in each hand. “I don’t know if you like it, but it’s basically this or milk. Two percent milk. Or beer, but lets not.”

“Yeah. I know. I’ve been here a few times,” Puck can’t help but point out.

They play a few games, only pausing for Kurt getting Finn a glass of water when he moans for it. Halfway through their fourth game, which Puck is going to win, all of his three of a kinds are decimating Kurt’s hopes for runs, he says abruptly “I got a handjob from a guy a week ago. The day after I came out.”

Kurt doesn’t reply for a minute, hand frozen over the discard pile. Puck has enough time to start to freak out that he broke Kurt’s fragile virgin brain before Kurt finally replies. “I want to want to tell you you’re sharing too much. But mostly I just want to ask you what it was like.”

“I could tell you, if you want?”

Kurt stares avidly at the wall. Puck rolls his eyes and tries again for a consent statement. “I’m not gonna say anything if you don’t say I should. I don’t do sex stuff when people don’t want it.”

“Really?” Kurt says viciously. “What about Quinn?”

Puck rolls his eyes again. “I get that you’re trying for a low blow. And yeah, it was stupid, everyone knows that, even though they don’t know the full story. But it was mutual consent. Unless you consider drunk unable to consent. I don’t agree, but I know some people use that definition, so fine. The thing about that is, the part of the story where I got her drunk on wine coolers? I’d drunk a whole mickey. Thirteen shots to her two wine coolers.”

“Why’d you drink that much? That’s alcohol poisoning.”

“Not quite. My tolerance is decent. Because if I was drunk I could ask Quinn how to tell her boyfriend I was gay. Then I chickened out.”

“And by chickened out you mean had unprotected sex. With a girl.”

Puck shrugs. “I’ve done stupider. But anyway, back to my point. I will talk for the next hour about every little detail, but you gotta tell me you wanna hear it.”

Kurt says in a low, guilty voice, “just tell me already.”

“So his name was Liam. About the same build as Finn. Same height, maybe a little skinnier, like you or Mike. He had dyed red hair, you could see his roots. He was tanned. I’d spent like two days staring at him. Well, him and his twin.”

“Twin?”

Puck grins inwardly. _Everyone_ has a twin fetish. “Yup. Name’s Scottie. He’s straight though, so he didn’t really factor into the proceedings. So after a day or two Liam comes over and straight up asks if I’ve got a problem with him, or I just wanna fuck him.”

“You being you had no problem saying the second.”

“Of course not. Sex is good. We kissed on the beach. He used a lot of tongue.”

“What did he taste like?”

Puck didn’t really log it, but his answer could be true, given the circumstances. “Chocolate and cashews. He had sort of a Drumstick addiction.”

“You know Brittany told me armpit and I still wanted to kiss a boy?”

“Brit logic is not usually earth logic. So we kissed, and it was great. Really great. He wanted to go back to his cabin, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

If Puck isn’t mistaken, there’s a tone of anguish in Kurt’s voice, like he doesn’t already know this has a happy ending. “My sister was in the water.”

“So then...did you...after?”

“We did then. There are shower stalls for daytrippers. Not very private, but we were in need. He pushed me against the shower wall. It was warm, warmer than his hands. His hands were better though. They touched me all over, like my skin had a secret panel and he knew exactly the right sequence of buttons to get me fired up.” So what if it’s a lie? Kurt looks like the kind of guy that needed foreplay. Some girls had liked going straight to sex, but most had liked foreplay first. Puck’s good at accommodating needs.

“Then, just when I can’t stand it, he slides a hand down from my belly to my boardshorts. Never have I been so happy for the existence of elastic. It should be the same as masturbating, but it’s really not. You know how you’re going to touch yourself. You’ve got no idea how he’s going to touch you.”

If Puck isn’t mistaken, that’s a little whimper bubbling out of Kurt’s mouth.

“Just as hot was Liam enjoying doing it so much that he had to touch himself at the same time. We didn’t try to drag it out. Not in a small alcove with literally thousands of people around us. That’s the part I’d want to change next time. I’d want to make him beg for release. I’d want him to make me beg.”

“Wow Puck. That’s...wow.”

“I could tell you something dirtier, if you want something good to jerk off to.”

“No,” Kurt says quickly.

Puck shrugs. “Suit yourself. Are you picking up top card, or the whole pile?”

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck’s first post-coming out hang out with Finn goes just fine. For the first ten minutes of MarioKart Finn keeps looking over at him like he expects something, but he keeps losing because of it. Eventually he stops, choosing instead to keep his eyes on his character, and that seems to be the end of it.

After about an hour they take a timeout to regain circulation to their clenched hands. Finn takes the opportunity to say “We should invite Kurt over. He’d be good competition.”

“Are you trying to set me up with your brother? Because-”

“A, no I’m not. Kurt wants love and you want to hook up. B, our parents are dating, not married. And even if they were our blood doesn’t match.”

Puck shrugs. “Invite whoever. There are four controllers, we’ll take turns.”

Finn sends out a mass text, realising a bit late that Tina and Mike aren’t in town, and Quinn isn’t even in the state. There’s a little back and forth, but Kurt and Rachel are the only ones to actually commit to showing up.

Puck decides to say it when he hears the front door open a second time. He’s only got thirty seconds to back out before Rachel enters the room. He doesn’t. The minute Rachel’s inside he says “I’m gay. I told both of them. Don’t tell anyone else. Unless your dads have single friends. Then go ahead.”

The way he sees it things can pan out in two ways. The first, assuming the best of Rachel, is that she doesn’t tell anyone she knows and is an ally for the future. No, she doesn’t seem to ally with Kurt much, but he’s a threat to her stardom. Puck doesn’t go for the same songs Rachel does, they’ll be fine. The second, the worst case scenario, is that she tells everyone. It’s not like he hasn’t almost told all of them in stupid, possibly dangerous ways.

“Oh Noah! How brave of you! I’ll certainly be here for you!”

“I call Princess Peach,” Kurt says. Puck’s a bit grateful for the interruption. Rachel’s looking at him strangely now, like she’s already factoring in how to use the gay man she dated for a week into her autobiography.

“What? No Kurt, it’s the player I’m accustomed to. Play Mario or Luigi or Wario!”

“I’ve had enough overalls for a lifetime, thanks.”

The rest of the afternoon could just be friends hanging out, but it seems oddly couplish. At the very least Rachel and Finn have a tension, and there’s no such thing as two third wheels. Nothing big, just little things like getting Kurt a drink too when he goes into the kitchen for one, or letting Kurt sit on the more comfortable part of the bed while he sits on the springy part, or cheering for Kurt when he wins, even though it means he’s lost.

It doesn’t really make sense. Yeah, Puck’s heard Kurt’s turned on whimper. Yeah, he had a semi for the rest of the afternoon sitting on the stolen cushion in the hallway. That doesn’t mean Puck wants to date the guy. To prove it he stretches his legs and ‘accidentally’ kicks Kurt in the back. Finn would never do that to Rachel.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck takes a chance that Kurt’s home. It’s not that much of a leap. Tina’s still at camp, Artie’s got a Halo addiction that nobody’s bothered to do an intervention for, and according to Facebook Mercedes is volunteering at her church. Puck gets it. If he was a little more trustworthy he’d offer to volunteer. He just won’t because he doesn’t want to hear the rabbi say no. He’s also sure Kurt doesn’t get it. Boy’s got a major god grudge. Kurt won’t be playing with Artie, he can’t be with Tina, and chances of him being with another Gleek are low. It doesn’t mean he’s not doing something else entirely, but if so Puck’s only out ten minutes gas, so whatever.

Kurt answers the door after the second buzz of the doorbell. He looks a little surprised to see him. “Hi?”

Puck pushes past him and kicks off his sneakers.

“Yes. Sure you can come in. Be my guest,” Kurt says sarcastically, then tones it down with “why are you here?”

Puck shrugs. “Kitchen Nightmares marathon on channel eight. Figured you’d love the nastiness as much as Santana. Normally I’d hit her up, but she and Brit have basically locked themselves in Brit’s room with a do not disturb sign. They’ll be out in August.”

“While Gordon Ramsey’s look is awful, I really do appreciate his way of calling people out on their failure.”

“See? I knew it.”

“We’ll watch in my basement? The tv isn’t quite as large, but the couch is far more comfortable.”

“You have a couch in your room?”

“My room is the entire basement, minus the laundry room.”

“Shit.”

It is a nice room, too. Kind of boring and grey, and every piece of furniture matches. It’s nothing like Puck’s room, walls covered with posters, floor covered with discarded clothing and other things he couldn’t list until he actually wades through the foot of miscellaneous. There’s no question that Puck wouldn’t last a day without messing the room up, but it makes sense for Kurt. He himself is so fashionable and bold that he needs a plain background to pop out against.

Puck waits a bit -an entire episode- before he says anything. This is the first time he’s ever been in Kurt’s house, and it’s kind of important to him that Kurt feels comfortable with him there. Springing a proposition on him immediately won’t ensure that comfort. Eventually though the sound of Kurt’s whimper skips through his brain a few too many times and Puck has to speak up. He’d really like to hear it again.

“I’ve been told by a wise gay guy that the general population of gay guys are really good at casually hooking up with friends.”

“Who told you that, Brian Kinney?”

“No idea who the fuck that is.”

Kurt looks downright scandalized. “You need an education.”

“Whatever. Do you want me to put a hand in your pants, or not?”

“Oh my god, is that mold?”

Taking it for the topic change it is, Puck replies “Ramsey is going to slaughter them.”

“They have an open cardboard box of vegetables on the floor. They deserve everything they get,” Kurt retorts viciously.

Puck leaves it alone for a while. He’s a perfect fucking gentleman. And then there’s a commercial for some show. Puck doesn’t catch the name, he just sees the man and woman writhing under sheets with a strategically shown leg or shoulder and in an instant it turns into him and Kurt. He hasn’t had sex in almost two weeks. It’s crazy.

“Come on Hummel. Don’t make me beg. Let’s bang. I can’t spend the next two years not getting laid. Don’t make me go back to girls.”

Kurt frowns. “I don’t understand you. You keep saying you’re gay, but you’ve had sex with so many girls. Not just an experiment. So many girls.”

“It’s like-” Puck searches for a metaphor, and comes up with one that seems pretty fitting. “It’s like cake. I love chocolate cake, right? Love it, think about it exclusively when someone mentions cake, wanna cream myself when it touches my tongue. But if there’s a world wide shortage of chocolate, like the cocoa fields burnt down, I can’t just not have any cake. Even if it’s not half as good and I close my eyes and imagine chocolate, I’m still gonna have it.”

“I think you’re pansexual.”

“You can’t tell me what I am, dude. That’s not cool. I’m gay.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Puck.”

Puck thinks about trying to argue it, but there’s really only one thing to do when some prick decides they know your sexuality; throw shit and swear. It worked with Finn, after all. He picks up his nearly full can of Coke and throws it to the carpet. The brown liquid glugs out over the white fibres as Puck follows up with “fuck you Hummel.”

“Puck!” Kurt gasps, horrified.

“Nope. Fuck you, I’m out.” And with that he bolts for the stairs. Kurt can suck it.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Sunday morning Puck wakes up to the doorbell ringing. It’s obnoxious, and evil, and he’s the only one home so he stumbles downstairs. He opens the door standing in only his boxers. If the guy asking for donations is horrified by his semi-erection, well, it’s eleven goddamn am, Puck’s allowed to be evil and obnoxious back.

It’s Kurt, and he’s perfectly dressed. Something in Puck twinges when he sees him, but he covers it with a blast of anger. “I’m pretty sure I told you to fuck off.”

“I want to make a cake,” Kurt says.

What the fuck? “What?”

“I want to fool around with you, and apologise for saying your sexuality wasn’t valid. Don’t look at _me_ , it was _your_ metaphor.”

Puck rubs a hand over his face, hoping to get some of the grit out of his eyes. “You don’t have to bribe me with sex. Just say sorry. I mean, look at Finn. Wouldn’t fool around with me if I was the last person on Earth.”

“Evidently Finn’s never noticed your arms or your treasure trail or the size of your dick.” Puck’s eyebrows raise of their own accord. Kurt throws his hands up, not in the least bit apologetic. “Straight boys oggle every girl they see, even if they don’t stand a chance. Rachel’s proof straight girls do the same. Guess what? Gay boys do it too. We’re just far more aware of the hopelessness.”

“But you think I’m not hopeless.”

“ _You_ came on to _me_.”

“So you know I’m not hopeless, and you’ve decided I’m gay enough for you.”

“Look. I have issues with labels. It comes with everyone telling you what you are since before you even know the difference between boys and girls. I was wrong to not let you define yourself.”

“Damn right.”

“You’re gay if you say you are, which makes a grand total of two in McKinley. You made your intentions known yesterday, I’ve made mine known today. Can I come inside your house now, or would you prefer to get nude on your front lawn?”

Puck smiles. Not a big sex shark smile. Some girls liked the confidence, but it’ll only be off-putting to Kurt. It might even remind him of prank pulling bullying past-Puck, which is the opposite of what he wants. No, what he displays is a much more relaxed smile. He can’t give Kurt a fairytale first experience, the soulmates one Puck’s certain he’s unrealistically imagined because he’s that kind of guy. He can’t even give him romance. Maybe he could have, if he’d had some advance warning, but his room’s a mess and as far as he knows there are no candles in the house for an atmospheric lunch. What he can do is make this fun. Kurt should have fun. Not just because Puck wants him to want it every day of the four weeks left of summer vacation. Because everyone deserves a good first time.

“I’m gonna pass on exhibitionism this early in our budding relationship. Gotta keep stuff to spice it up after we get bored. Also, even though no one’s home, I still want to do it in my room.” It’d be weird to have sex somewhere he knows Sarah will brush up against.

They go up to his bedroom and just look at each other for a minute. Kurt’s a much prettier package, wrapped up the way he is, but Puck knows he’s nothing bad to look at either. He’s just the straight to the pleasure version.

“How far do you want to go?”

Kurt blushes, but his voice is strong when he returns “I don’t know, how far do you want to go?”

Puck crosses his arms, then drops them so he doesn’t look aggressive. “Come on man. It’s me. I want to go as far as possible. As hard and wet and deep as we can go. I mean, obviously you gotta be into it too. But if it was just about me? All the way.”

“I want you to fuck me. I think if I fuck you first I’ll get too into the mechanics. I’ll worry about if my reactions will be the same as yours. Is that okay?”

Like he’d say _no_. “Kurt, it’ll be my total honour to fuck you senseless. Let’s get naked, okay?”

Kurt complies, taking off his clothes with much more care that Puck would have. It’s why Puck suggested it. His own boxers join the detritus of his floor. Then he steps in to press himself against Kurt. Kurt’s skin is much cooler than his, Puck has time to notice, before Kurt murmurs “You’re so hot.”

“I’m even hotter inside,” Puck says lowly. “You’ll find out next time.”

Kurt shudders against him.

“Are you going to get mad if I leave a hickey?”

“Yes. Don’t. I hate bruises.”

There go Puck's fantasies of leaving them all over Kurt’s hips. Puck mentally shrugs. When kink closes a door it opens a window. Kurt will probably like something Puck’s never even considered, and it’ll probably be great. Puck tilts his head into Kurt’s neck anyway.

“Puck, I said- Oh.”

Yeah. Screw biting and sucking. Licking seems to be waking up Kurt’s skin just as much.

Kurt’s hands are running over his shoulders, his upper arms. His thumbs run the length of his collarbone and Puck kisses his jaw in return. Then he makes his way to his nipples. Kurt’s left hand over his right pec, and his right gives an experimental tug on Puck’s nipple ring. Puck hisses his pleasure into the side of Kurt’s face. It shouldn’t take a genius to figure out the piercing is basically a pull here tab, but a surprising number of girls never bothered.

“Yes? Okay, I’ll do that.” Kurt reangles his face so that they’re kissing mouth to mouth, then tugs a second time. Puck groans, and Kurt takes the open mouth as a chance to slip in his tongue. Maybe he’s not as romantic and chaste as Puck assumed.

Familiar in the art of sexual oneupmanship Puck drops his own hand down and encircles Kurt’s cock. He can feel the way Kurt’s breath hitches at the first touch. He’s not sure his own breathing hasn’t changed. This is new, and what he wants, what he’s wanted for a long time. If his heart is beating double-time he can’t really be blamed.

Puck curls his free hand around Kurt’s asscheek and hauls him in closer, so his own knuckles are scraping over his belly as he jerks Kurt. He could probably get them both in hand, if he wanted. Maybe he’ll do it next time. Right now Puck just wants to feel every inch of Kurt there is, and get seconds of the places that make him make noise.

“We need to stop. We need lube and a condom. Do you have-”

“Like I’d ever not use one ever again, after Quinn.”

“No, I meant lube. Not everyone uses it for masturbation.”

“You’re the first boy I’ve fucked. You’re not the first ass I’ve fucked.”

Kurt’s mouth curls. “Don’t talk to me about your girl-sex, okay?”

Puck’s had way more irrational requests in the past. No name dropping past lovers is downright normal. “Sure thing. Get on the bed, however you always imagined doing this, and I’ll get the stuff.”

Puck fully expects Kurt to lay on his back. In that position they can kiss, and look at each other, and generally be as romantic as it’s possible to be while striving to orgasm. So when Kurt crawls onto the bed and stays that way, on his hands and knees, Puck doesn’t know what to say for a second. Then he shrugs to himself and goes to get a condom from the sock drawer. If it’s what Kurt wants, it’s what Kurt wants.

“You’re probably going to go soft. It’s fine, it’s normal, just try to focus on the hot foreplay we just had, alright?” After all, Kurt won’t want to hear about how with the one mom that liked it, he used a vibrator while getting her prepped so she was hot the whole time. The one time they tried without because she didn’t have any batteries she couldn’t make it to the good part and pushed him away. Kurt’s probably never even seen a vibrator.

“I trust you.”

He fingers him quickly. Maybe a little quicker than he should, but Kurt’s the one who said getting hung up on the mechanics would only make it worse. Soon enough Puck lines himself up and pushes in. Kurt’s spine arches and Puck can’t see his face, but he’d guess it’s not in a good way. There’s a distinct lack of whimpering. With the hand that’s not keeping Puck from putting his whole weight on Kurt he scrabbles for Kurt’s dick. The more of this he finds pleasurable the better, and a handjob will help. Puck wants Kurt to want to do this again.

Finally Kurt makes the same sweet sound as last week, from their talk in the hallway. “Yeah Kurt, that’s just what I want to hear. I’m going to make you do that again and again.” Kurt whimpers a second time. Puck isn’t quite sure if it’s the angle of the thrusting or the dirty talk, but he’s going to try to keep up both.

“Yeah Kurt, you feel so good inside, I should have known you’d be beautiful inside too. I can see how much you love this, I hope I look half as hot when you’re fucking me, you’re so good-” his whimpers have turned into rounded sobbed breaths, “you gonna come? You gonna paint the bed with how hot you are, how hot this is?”

“Puck,” he sobs.

Puck kisses his shoulder. “Come any time you want. Kurt, you feel so good to me, I want you to feel good too. You-”

Kurt grunts and spills himself. Puck stops jerking Kurt, not sure if his dick gets immediately oversensitive the way his does. He moves his arm a bit further up his body in order to keep Kurt from collapsing. He needs him on his knees for just a little bit longer. It’s that or pull out and shuck off the condom and come on his back, and Puck suspects Kurt wouldn’t like that.

It’s only a few more thrusts before Puck’s coming. He drops his weight onto Kurt as all his other processes momentarily fail, things like gross motor control, things like politeness involved in not falling on your bedmate like a sack of potatoes. Puck’s a good lover, up until the comeshot, then he just loses his shit. Whenever a girl commented on it in the past he’d leer and say ‘practice makes perfect’, and it’s not a line he’s planning on discarding in the future. Puck’s young, his refractory period is short, and if the worst thing he does in bed is lose a little control while an orgasm short circuits his system he’s not going to feel bad about his prowess.

“Can I have a shower?” Kurt asks, squirming out from underneath Puck.

“Go ahead. We don’t have the products you do, but use what you want.” It’s fine. It’s not like he wanted to spoon Kurt anyway. Puck would have done it for Kurt’s sake, but if that’s not what Kurt wants, then fine. He’s not going to cry.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

As always, Puck stops in to remind Sarah of his phone number. As always, she rolls her eyes. She’s not really looking up from her art project, but Puck can tell. “Where are you going?”

“Kurt’s.”

She does look up at that, eyeing him the way he’s taught her to do strangers. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Kurt. Any particular reason?”

He can hardly tell her that for the last four days they’ve been having great sex. More than once in a hangout. More than twice, even. No one would even look at Kurt Hummel and think insatiable, but he makes the first move as often as Puck does.

“We like the same tv shows and his commentary is hilarious.”

“Whatever. Tell me when you want to.”

That tone paired with that blatant attempt at nonchalance, there’s only one thing Puck can get from it. “You know, don’t you?”

“Tell me when you _want_ to,” she repeats before going back to her yarn and nails project.

Puck would love to swoop down and hug her. His sister is awesome, the last few words just more proof. But it’s not the kind of relationship they have. “I’ll see you later. Call if-”

“Yeah yeah. Later.”

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

“You catch your breath yet?”

Puck snorts into the pillow. “I have. I just don’t want to get up yet. I’m sweaty and it’s July. Clothes are for losers.”

Kurt drums his fingers on his shoulder. “If we’re not getting up and doing something you need to talk to me.”

“Dude, really?”

“I’m not saying pillow talk. Tell me whatever you want to, but laying here in silence is a waste of time.”

Puck means to bring up football or BMXing or Diablo, just to test Kurt’s tolerance. Instead what comes out is “at some point my sister’s going to want to meet the person I’m fucking.”

“The guy who’s fucking you. Or is your short term memory that bad?” Kurt’s hand slips from his shoulder back down to his bare ass.

“I meant in general.”

“You ready to come out to your family?”

“My sister and my mom are very different family. I can tell her without telling her.”

“I never regretted telling my dad, but I don’t know your mom. It’s your choice. For school too, for the record, assuming that Rachel can keep her gossipy mouth shut, and Finn doesn’t accidentally blurt it out.”

“I thought you’d be jamming gay pride down my throat.”

Kurt shrugs, a gesture Puck can more hear on the sheets than see. “It’s about priorities. Mine are geared towards self-expression and pride. There’s statistically at least sixty kids at school that gear towards keeping their heads down and not rocking the boat.”

Puck grimaces. He never thought he’d be explained in the context of not rocking the boat. “I’ve almost told half the people in school.”

“So you will when you want to.”

“That’s actually almost exactly what Sarah said.”

“I guess smart people think alike. But we’ve exhausted the topic.” Kurt smacks his ass lightly, not even enough to make Puck startle. “Something new or get dressed.”

The next words out of his mouth are “I miss singing.” Shit, maybe the heat is getting to him, making him over-emotional.

Kurt rolls onto his side to look at him better. Half of Puck’s face is still obscured by the pillow, but he can feel Kurt’s gaze.“What?”

“I miss Glee, I miss singing. Almost makes me wish it were August,” he mumbles into the feathers. How damn sad is that? Wanting to go back to school. He’s a traitor to teenagers everywhere.

“You can sing without a Glee assignment.”

“Isn’t that kinda-”

Kurt interrupts “if you say gay, Prada help me I will-”

Puck rolls to mirror him. “I was gonna say lonely. Singing to myself in the shower is different now. Now that I’m used to people applauding when I don’t hear it I think I suck.”

“Sing to me then.” He obviously sees his raised eyebrows, he continues “I don’t mean Lionel Ritchie or Barry White, I’m not expecting that. KISS, Neil Diamond, random jewish artist. Whatever.”

Puck shrugs, then nods. “Okay. Cool. You should too though.”

“Sit up and sing. I won’t even make you put underwear on.”

Puck thinks about it for a second. The first lyric that floats to the top of his head that would actually sound decent without backing musicians he starts.

“Well I was there on the day  
They sold the cause for the queen,  
And when the lights all went out  
We watched our lives on the screen.  
I hate the ending myself,  
But it started with an alright scene.”

He puts some real soul into the woahs before the chorus repeats one last time. It’s something Puck loves about My Chem, that every single song they have builds to three quarters of the way through, then breaks like a wave. He can’t remember how many ‘at all’s there are at the end, so he whisper-sings the last few. Kurt claps and compliments him on his tone. 

“Now you. Whatever you want. If your Broadway is a poseur thing and you secretly love Tupac, I’ll listen to that too.”

Kurt’s face flickers for a second, then stills back to his normal neutral expression. Then he starts to sing.

“Something has changed within me  
Something is not the same  
I'm through with playing by the rules  
Of someone else's game  
Too late for second-guessing  
Too late to go back to sleep  
It's time to trust my instincts  
Close my eyes... and leap!” 

Puck recognises the song. It’s the Diva Off song. Puck schools his face. If Kurt wants to try again, why not? His voice will break, but Puck will be supportive as fuck, and then he’ll give him a handjob for trying.

His voice doesn’t break. Puck wants to forego the clapping and give the guy a hug, but maybe Kurt wants to hear applause as much as he did. So he keeps it up as long as he can without feeling ridiculous and says “dude, you got it perfectly this time!”

“I got it perfectly last time.”

“Not to be a buzzkill, but you totally didn’t.”

Kurt’s face turns brittle. “I sang it exactly how I meant to.”

Puck frowns. There’s no way Kurt’s not being serious, not with how he looks now, like he might explode and shred everyone around him. “Wait. Like you wanted to? Berry didn’t deserve that.”

“Of course she didn’t. But people were calling the garage and telling my dad how faggy I was, and me singing girls songs in a televised competition would have made it worse.”

Well, what the _fuck_. Maybe two years ago that would have been him on the other side of the phone, but he’s reformed now. And part of Puck’s reformation is to punch in the teeth of anyone that still dares to bully his crew. “Did you recognise the voices? Because I’ll kick their asses.”

“No Puck. It’s fine.”

Puck can’t see fine in this situation. He sees shitty, and unfair, and fuck the world, but not fine. He can’t let this lie. If he did he’d be the same bastard he used to be, and he’s got no interest in going back to that. Puck flops onto his back and then shimmies up the bed until he can awkwardly reach his pants, and the cell phone inside.

He sends a mass text. **Kurt threw Diva Off. I demand a rematch.**

Kurt’s phone beeps a moment later. He looks at the screen then over at him. “This is a bad idea.”

Puck ignores him and sends everyone a second text. **everyone go on fb. post your first free day. rematch is on asap.**

Puck grabs Kurt’s laptop from his desk and carries it back to the bed. It’s already on, but password protected. “Password, dude,” Puck says, closing his eyes and leaning away so Kurt can type over his shoulder.

“It’s magnolia, with fours instead of a’s.”

“You told me your password?”

“What are you going to do with that information?” Puck opens his mouth for a second then closes it. “Yes, exactly. You’re hardly going to steal my identity or walk out of this room with it. Now go on Facebook and have fun convincing Rachel she needs to provide a second chance.”

Puck’s not concerned. He’s pretty sure that Kurt is underestimating Berry’s crazy. In fact, he’s pretty sure that Facebook is going to be a great opening act in the production of Rachel Berry losing her shit.

Berry’s already posted on his wall, on a status change that has nothing to do with anything. _I am free any day. This attempt to usurp my rightfully given title will not stand._

Puck types to her _we’ll see about rightfully. Also free whenever._ then enters the comment. As the page refreshes six new comments are up. Most of them seem to share the consensus borne of summer boredom that they’re free anytime, although Mercedes says not on Sunday.

“Kurt, when are you free? Post from your phone so they don’t know I’m with you.”

“Seriously?”

But when Puck refreshes again there’s Kurt’s comment, another _any time_ , as well as one from Mike saying him and Tina want them to wait a week until they’re back in Lima. Puck frowns and refreshes, then laughs. He was gonna say no, but Berry’s done one better. It’s a wall of text about how Mike doesn’t understand the seriousness of the situation, and how can she be expected to sleep soundly knowing that her friends don’t believe she won fairly. Another refresh and Santana’s uploaded a popcorn gif because she’s a wonderfully vicious bitch that says what everyone else only dares to think. Underneath that is Artie. _Calm down woman, we’ll carpool to Asian camp. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my lady_.

 _Wednesday cool for everyone?_ Matt wants to know, _what time are we leaving_ Finn has asked, _it’s on, bitches!_ Mercedes says.

Not for the first time, Puck’s happy he made his switch in friends. They get why this is important. Jamie and the rest of the football guys would just talk shit, brag endlessly in their certainty that they’re the best. Glee’s actually getting off their collective ass to do something and figure it out for good. _Wednesday’s good for me_ he types.

  
[ ](http://photobucket.com/)   


They agreed on Facebook to meet in front of Artie’s house, because it was easiest for Artie that way. Puck’s not the first to pull up the drive, but he’s not the last either. That role would fall to Mercedes. He spends most of his time waiting watching Matt attempt to not be obvious with his staring at Santana’s boob job. Matt’s idea of stealth is honestly pretty hilarious. Puck can practically imagine him with a newspaper with eyeholes cut out.

Between them they have a multitude of vehicles, but they end up using two. Finn and Rachel go with Artie in his special van, and the rest of them fit with room to spare in Mercedes’ dad’s van. It’s an ugly shade of purple, and the back window is half covered in religious bumper stickers. Puck’s not sure if Mercedes actually asked to borrow it for the day, or if she just left her house with the keys when she thought she wouldn’t be noticed. Considering he stole his Mom’s car less than a month ago he can’t judge. Getting the crown put on Kurt’s head is just as good a cause as calling Finn out.

Kurt sits in front with Mercedes. He’s in the middle with Matt. Santana and Brittany spend the whole drive making out in the back seat, seat belts forgotten so they can lay down and use the entire seat. It keeps Matt occupied, he spends at least half the drive twisted backwards awkwardly. None of them make much noise, nothing audible over Mercedes’ Gaga CD. She must not be using her rear view mirror, because she doesn’t say a thing. Puck can’t help but wonder what Mercedes would do if she knew her Christ-van was seventy percent gay. Hopefully she’s not one of those Christians who claim to be open-minded up until the moment things get PG.

Puck can’t test the theory by asking. It would make everyone think that’s why he arranged this, instead of pure and simple fairness. He’s not Kurt’s fucking _boyfriend_ , he just thinks Berry always getting the automatic win is bullshit.

When Mercedes finally pulls into camp property Tina’s waiting in the parking lot. She’s wearing a bright blue shirt with the camp logo, but Puck can still see touches of who she really is. Her shorts are black jean cutoffs, she’s wearing striped knee socks, and her eyeshadow is a dark purple.

“Long time no see, girl!” Mercedes says before enveloping her in a hug. Tina hugs back enthusiastically, and then Brittany gets into the mix. Puck didn’t even know she was close with them. She probably isn’t, she’s just mistaken them for unicorns or something.

“Now we just have to wait for the others.”

“Are you kidding? Rachel was driving. Rachel drives like she dresses; like an insane grandma. They were here fifteen minutes ago. Come on, they’re in cabin five. Also, do not even _look_ at the visitor log room. You’d never get out alive.”

She leads them down a circuitous path that seems intended for them not pass anyone. A lot of it goes through trees, and Puck spares a thought or two to wonder how Artie managed it, before they’re suddenly at the back of a cabin and sneaking around the side.

All the subterfuge has been for nothing though, because with Artie and Finn and Rachel and Mike are about twenty tiny children. Tina puts her hands on her hips in the classic girl-rage position. “What the aitch ee double hockey sticks, Mike?”

“I had to bring them. They knew something was up, and they said the only way they wouldn’t rat us out to Don was if they got to watch.”

“You are the worst foot putter downer ever. You should really never have kids.”

“I know. It’ll ruin my figure.”

Tina and Mike crack up, then trail off when no one joins. Mike rubs the back of his neck and then in a completely uncommanding voice says “Campers, this is Kurt and Rachel. They both believe they’re better at singing, and as our parents have all taught us, healthy or not, always strive to be best.”

“I was actually voted best,” Berry says haughtily.

“I threw the competition.”

The children look a mixture of confused and horrified. As a jew Puck doesn’t like to believe in stereotypes, but Mike did it first, making it okay here, and Puck would guess none of these tiny Asian children have _ever_ gotten less than perfect grades, or excellent reviews in the after school lessons they’ve been signed up for.

“But why,” one of them asks plaintively.

“Family loyalty,” Kurt offers.

“I don’t understand?”

Kurt sighs. His follow up is more to the Glee members looking at him with curiosity than the confused campers. “We were getting threatening calls, you can guess the language they used. My dad wasn’t happy. If I sang at Nationals he’d get more heat.”

“What?” at least half of Glee demand, voices different shades of unhappy. Puck could almost smile. They know who their own are too.

“Oh don’t play the sympathy card, that’s not fair.”

Mike frowns. “Rachel, don’t be a bee eye tee sea aitch.”

Another camper snorts. “We’re ten. We know how to spell.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll get fired if we swear in front of you, so.”

“How’s about you both just sing?” Santana suggests, a bit of bite in her voice, as always.

Berry nods her head. Without suggesting a flip of a coin or anything else fair she begins to sing. Puck scowls. It’s unsportsmanlike, the behaviour of a shitty opponent. No wonder he’s stopped thinking of her as Rachel. For the last three days and for the next ten minutes she’s just Berry, the person whose ass will be kicked.

When she’s done the kids clap. The members of Glee don’t bother. They’ve heard it before. It’s nothing interesting, it’s just a baseline performance. The question is if Kurt can do better, not if she can sing it. Puck jams his fingers into his pockets and there, out of sight, he crosses his fingers that Kurt will hit that end note. Even knowing that he threw it the first time, there’s still a chance he might fuck it up this time. If he did to everyone else it would be the second time, and it would be doubly embarrassing.

He makes it. The note soars, piercing them all under it. He can hear Rachel gasp. The song comes to its natural end and they all clap, even the kids that looked mindblown that that came out of a boy’s mouth.

Then Santana steps up and punches him in the arm. “You shouldn’t have thrown that, stupid.”

“My dad-”

“Fuck parents.”

Puck understands Santana’s sentiment. Mercedes’ is far more confusing to him.

“They’re supposed to protect you, not the other way around.”

Kurt looks more and more uncomfortable. Puck wonders if he’ll have to say something obnoxious to take the focus off him -even though he agrees that Kurt’s decision was crap- before he strokes out. Luckily Tina intervenes first. “Everyone write their winner down, and one of the campers will do the tally. They’ve got no emotional stake.”

Mike tears uneven pieces of one of the papers on his clipboard, then he and Tina pass their pens around. To Puck it’s not even a question. He can only hope everyone else feels the same.

The kid tasked with counting sounds vaguely pleased when she says “eight to two, Kurt wins.”

Santana frowns. “Wait. Who didn’t vote for Hummel?”

“Finn, obviously. Otherwise Rachel would never forgive him. He’d never get laid.”

“Oh please, like he’s getting laid now.”

“But who else?”

Artie raises his hand. “It was me. Sorry. I just like when girls songs are sung by girls.”

“And I like when rap is rapped by someone a little less incredibly white, but we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

“Merce, it’s fine. Everyone got a vote, you can’t be mad at them for voting.”

“So what are we doing now?” Santana asked. “Party at Asian camp?”

“You can stay if you want, but we won’t be able to ‘party’ until after sunset.”

Mike adds “You’d have to hide in the woods.”

Finn says with a note of apology “I think we’ll pass. Artie, you good to go?”

“I’ll show you how to get back to the parking lot. Group Cardinal, please pay attention to anything Counselor Mike asks of you.” Tina sounds hopeless. She knows, Mike knows, and all the kids know that’s not going to happen.

As the four of them leave, Matt takes control of the situation. “I know they’re going home so Rachel can pout, but we can be the party van. There’s gotta be something we can do.”

“We could go to the beach?” Brittany suggests.

“No swimsuits.”

“Girls have matching underwear and boys have their shorts.”

“Nude beach!” Brittany says.

“Puck, can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Mercedes won’t leave without me, she’s not Santana.”

He follows Mike into what appears to be a supply closet, the shelves are full of about fifteen kinds of paper. With the door closed he can’t hear their friends arguing in front of kids about swimming naked.

“What’s up, man?”

Mike drags a hand through his hair. He does it a second time and cracks his neck before finally asking “what’s the best way to cheat?”

“What?”

“You know, cheat and not get caught.”

Puck frowns. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because even though everyone thinks that you’ve made every second girl and wife in Lima cheat, the only proof anyone ever had was Quinn.”

“And you want to do the same? You realise everyone thinks I’m a slut. A whore even, thanks to the MILFs. It’s not exactly a great rep.”

Mike shakes his head. “It’s only one girl.”

“And Tina won’t break up with Artie?”

“Who said anything about Tina?” Puck snorts, to which Mike implores him “you can’t tell. Telling is the opposite of what needs to happen.”

Puck shrugs. “You’re under the radar already, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Besides, Artie’s so busy playing video games with Australians that he hasn’t left the house since Tina left. He probably won’t even when she comes back. I think you’ll be alright.”

“Thanks for the advice, bro.”

“Don’t thank me. That wasn’t really advice, that was like a state of the union.”

The last thing he’s expecting is for Mike to gather him into a hug. “Thank you. I mean it. You didn’t tell me it was wrong, that I shouldn’t.”

Puck shrugs and pats Mike’s back. “Chances are things are gonna get fucked up. But if you’ve got some happiness around the edges of the mess then that’s what counts, right?”

“I never really do stuff for my own happiness. Shit, I’m a counselor at Asian camp!”

“So it’s about time. Bang the shit out of Tina, if you like her, and it’s worth it to upset Artie. You just gotta remember, Artie’s not Finn.”

“Yeah, I know. Finn’s like ten percent height, ninety percent acceptance. Artie’s not. But Artie’s not my bro like Finn’s yours, and I like her. A lot.”

“So then it’s worth it. But maybe we should stop hiding before everyone thinks we’re the secret couple.”

Mike chuckles. “Yeah, because you haven’t dated every girl in Glee except Tina.”

Puck throws his hands out wide. “What can I say? I’m Puckzilla, the girls fall like skyscrapers.”

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck doesn’t realise until he’s parked and grabbing his phone from where it’s nestled against his thigh that it’s almost dead. That’s totally unacceptable. He needs to keep it on in case of a Sarah emergency. Or maybe Kurt will go a little out of character and start dirty texting him like he’s Santana. Probably not, but if there’s even the slimmest possibility Puck refuses to prevent it by being unable to answer.

As he walks up the front he bellows as loudly as he can “my phone’s at two percent, can I borrow your electricity?”

“Feel free!” Matt yells from the backyard.

Puck plugs the charger into the wall about three seconds before it black-screens, has a swig of orange juice straight from the carton in the fridge, and goes outside. A volleyball net has been set up, and Easton is bouncing the white ball from hand to hand. He looks antsy, like he doesn’t start playing in the next five seconds he might die, while Aaron and a few of Matt’s swimming friends are casually playing hackeysack.

“I have no idea why I’m even here,” Hayden says. “At school this was one of the few P.E. classes I was willing to skip, and now I’m wasting a goddamn beautiful summer day being here?”

Puck feels sort of the same. He had a week at the beach, and the only time he so much as looked at the volleyball court was when Liam had put him in the position to.

“So now that we’re all here, we gotta make the teams.”

Travvie smirks. “How about crackers versus ni-”

“Oh, and where are Mike and Easton supposed to go then, numb nuts?”

Something twitches irritably inside Puck, seeing Mike back, and half a dozen other acquaintances of Matt’s, but no Kurt. Kurt’s been Matt’s friend for a year, Aaron for a month, and yet Aaron is bouncing a hackey sack from knee to knee. The last few times Puck’s been over it hasn’t bothered him, but somehow Mike is the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Where’s Kurt at?”

“And Artie,” Finn rushes to add.

“Didn’t text them, obviously. I knew they wouldn’t show up. They’ve got better things to do.”

“We’ve got twelve here anyway,” one of the swimming guys says, like Puck gives a shit what he thinks. He doesn’t even know his damn name.

“But you just assumed? You didn’t even bother to text?”

Matt shrugs. “Guess not.”

“I’m gonna go call Kurt.”

“And I’ll call Artie,” Finn tacks on.

“We’ll start without you,” Mike says with a friendly smile.

Puck scowls at him for not even thinking to text an invitation to crash despite Matt’s disinterest, and turns the look on Finn when he follows him into the house. Finn got here before he did, he should have done something.

As soon as the door is shut Finn glances around like a terrified rabbit, then hisses “you need to be cool about Kurt.”

“What the fuck?”

“You’re being really super obvious. Last month you wouldn’t have given two shits if Kurt came over. If you’re trying to stay closeted you need to tone it down. A lot.”

“Fuck them if they figure it out. Kurt’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Finn holds his hands up palms out, like he’s trying to ward him off. “The hell, man? I didn’t say he was.”

“And fuck you,” Puck adds, not quite done yet. “The way your mom and his dad are, you guys are gonna be brothers before you graduate. Acting like he’s a motherfucking leper. Asshole.”

“I’m not! Call him, man. If he really wants to be here, I’ll apologise the minute he shows up. I just think that Matt is right, that he wouldn’t want to be here anyway.”

“And if he does, then I’m punching everyone in the face, and Matt twice.”

Finn snorts. “Wow. Being gay really hasn’t changed you, huh.”

“And what the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?” Fuck waiting for Kurt, he’s about to punch Finn now.

“It’s not a slur or anything. It’s just you’re always really over-protective of the people you...sleep with.”

Puck has absolutely nothing to say to that. He uses the house phone to call Kurt, who picks up on the third ring, and gives him his invitation.

“You’re asking if I want to come play sports with a bunch of jocks?”

“You don’t have to say it like I’m asking you to drink battery acid. It’s nothing organised. We’re not jocks right now, just a bunch of guys.”

“The answer is no, Puck. I have no interest whatsoever in putting on a masculine front. My dad and the world already know I’m gay. And I won’t be giving you a leg massage if you come over after you’re done either.”

“I can come over, though?”

“You’ll be showering before we do anything that I’m sure is on your mind.”

Puck doesn’t really see the point in that. If they’re going to fuck, which, regardless of Kurt’s phrasing, Puck knows he wants just as much, they’ll just be sweaty afterwards. “Whatever. Call you later.”

Finn crosses his arms. “Doesn’t wanna be here?”

Puck bodychecks him a little. “Don’t fuckin’ start with me.”

“Neither of them are coming,” Finn announces as they walk back into the yard. The words distract Travvie, and he misses hitting the volleyball. As it smacks into the grass the other side cheers.

Matt shakes his head. “I knew that was a waste of time. I knew Kurt-”

“Would you fuck off about Kurt already!” someone shouts. It takes Puck a second to realise it was him.

“What crawled up your ass?”

His first instinct is to shout fuck off and die. But it’s like two weeks until Glee starts, and bad blood would suck. He’s already dreading turning Santana down the first time she calls him to get her hetero back on, and then there’s Quinn. He doesn’t need to have a rift with Matt too. So instead Puck yells “fuck volleyball” and tackles the fucker.

“WWE it is then,” Jamie says, before he spits out an “oof” of being knocked down.

Puck grins as Matt tries to flip him and fails. It’ll teach everyone a lesson about gays being interested in sports when he kicks everyone’s ass. A karmic lesson, since only Finn actually knows.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck looks at the front of his cell when it rings. He’s gotten about a thousand texts today, all of which he’s ignored. A phone call from Finn is different though. Finn will call back if he doesn’t pick up.

Instead of a hello, Finn opens with “party at Santana’s. You coming?”

Puck isn’t sure how to say he knows about the party, but doesn’t want to go. Finn would never let that statement be. He’d want to know why. Puck evades answering for a second by returning the question. “You’re going?”

“I’m DD.”

Puck snorts. “How’d you get that crap job?”

“Santana said she’d give me a fifty bucks and pay for gas. If I don’t get the fifty up front though I’m just gonna get wasted and tell everyone to sleep on her floor. I’m about to pick up Kurt and Tina and Mercedes, want me to get you?”

“Glee’s going?”

“Man, everyone’s going. Like _everyone_. I heard she invited like three teachers. Have you even checked Facebook in the last week?”

“I’ve been distracted with sex. Besides, Rachel’s been leaving threatening messages.” It’s a weak excuse, because like he gives a shit if Rachel’s mad at him. It’s a surefire way to distract Finn though. Everything about Berry throws him off.

“Yeah. She isn’t very happy. Part of the reason I wouldn’t mind drinking if Santana cops out. Seriously though, I can at least drive you there, if you want. You want?”

The truth is, Santana’s not throwing this party to show off her new boobs, although that’s a huge bonus for her. No, she’s doing this because there’s a week left until school stands, and she needs a way to transition from her summer self to her school self. From loose hair and artistically torn jean capris and Brittany to ponytails and the Cheerios uniform and guys that sometimes like her to watch her and Brittany. Having a party with all of McKinley as well as graduates that didn’t make it out of Lima is her doing it head on, basically jumping into the deep end.

The truth is, Puck’s role at this party is to be one of that guys that lusts after all the girls in the room. Or at least all the ones with mini-skirts and tans. His role is to get drunk enough that he and a bunch of other guys leave the party for a few hours to pull pranks on the geeks of Lima, then come back in time to hook up with one of the aforementioned girls. It’s the way things are. Which, yeah, okay. If it’s the way things are it’s the way things gotta be.

“Sure, what the hell, pick me up.”

“Cool. Be there in a half hour? Bit more, maybe.”

“Cool.”

Puck hangs up and sighs. He’s got half an hour to get ready, and absolutely nothing that he needs to ready. If he was looking to get laid he’d put on cologne and muscle shirt to show off his guns. There is, however, a difference between accepting how the night will go, and striving for it. Puck keeps his plain navy shirt on. Finding his fake ID in case he’s recruited to get the second wave of alcohol takes all of five minutes, it’s not in his wallet, but one of his jeans pockets. After that he just watches Sarah play Sims until there’s a honk outside.

He hasn’t been to a house party in months, but this seems pretty standard. A few people on the front steps smoking. Bass audible from down the street. Floor his shoes stick to. Red cups everywhere.

Finn comes back from the keg with two cups in each hand. He passes out three and keeps the fourth, evidently completely serious about drinking the instant Santana tries to rip him off. “I’m gonna find San for my chauffeur money.”

“I’m going to find Mike,” Tina says before she wanders off in the opposite direction.

“Mike?” Kurt asks.

Mercedes smirks. “They’re banging.”

“Reeeally?” Kurt breathes, speculatively.

“Did you not see them at camp?”

“That’s not proof though.”

“Proof enough.” Mercedes says. Puck doesn’t confirm, even though he could. He promised Mike he wouldn’t. He just hopes Mike won’t blame him when this gets out.

Puck mingles, because he has to. He lets Eric puts him in a handstand to drink from a hose. He risks a hundred unsanitary hands to eat from the chip bowl. He shares a cigarette with Robert in the backyard because he likes to smoke when he’s drunk. He joins the juggling random objects contest in the kitchen, but he can’t manage more than three individual serving cookie packets before he drops one. All the while Puck tries to keep an eye out for Kurt. All of Glee is at risk here, but Kurt the most. He’ll only approach if something is about to go down, but he won’t let anything happen.

In the end it’s Kurt that comes to him. He’s sipping a beer next to one of the speakers when Kurt steps up next to him. “I wanna get a room. Does this place have rooms aside from hers and her mom’s?”

“Yeah, there’s two guests, if they’re not already occupied. You sure?”

“Take a two second look below the belt and tell me.”

Puck doesn’t have to. The fact that Kurt’s willing to say that out loud speaks enough. And this is stupid, this is the opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing at this party, but he can’t stop himself from wanting to have sex with Kurt. “Go upstairs. I’ll follow in a minute.”

When Puck climbs the stairs five minutes later Kurt’s not standing in the hallway, so a guest room must have been free. Puck puts his ear to one door and hears a girl wailing through an orgasm. Unlikely that Kurt’s in that room, then. He enters the other without knocking, then locks the door behind him.

Kurt starts stripping the moment the door closes, a level of enthusiasm that makes Puck grin. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”

“What I want and what’s possible right now are two very different things.”

Which means fucking, of course. Puck smirks and heads for the chest of drawers. The top drawer has a few boxes of condoms, one package of them lubricated. Santana’s no Quinn, she knows how to keep herself safe. “There’s no lube but if you spit on your fingers and use one of these it’ll be fine.”

“That’s literally the most intelligent thing I’ve heard all evening.”

Puck takes off his shoes and jean cutoffs and underwear, and his socks because Kurt might kill him if he doesn’t, but he doesn’t bother with his shirt. Yes it’ll smell like sweat and sex after, but that’s only good news for his reputation. He gets on his hands and knees on the bed. Behind him Kurt is hesitating.

“Do you think the guest bath might have lube?”

“Do I think the Lopez bathroom has lube? No, I really don’t. Just spit on your fingers, it’s fine.”

It’s not the most intense foreplay they’ve had. Once Kurt used all four fingers, only a thumb rubbing the rim of his asshole stopping Kurt from fisting him. It’s close though. Spit dries faster than you’d think.

That’s when some guy bursts into the room from the bathroom, because Puck forgot that the bathroom was a jack and jill, fuck. And the duvet’s on the floor because they didn’t want it to get stained. Doublefuck.

“Oh. Oh, wow. I’mma just use the other door.”

The guy staggers out, cursing as it takes him a minute to figure out how to unlock the door. Kurt’s fingers are still frozen inside him when Puck pulls away to sit cross legged. It’s time for damage control, or at least acknowledging that there will be damage.

“We have to make a decision quickly. Option one, keep fucking, to hell with everyone else.”

“Not really in the mood now.” Kurt mumbles. His erection says different, but Puck won’t push it. If Kurt doesn’t want to admit to exhibitionistic tendencies, Puck won’t force him.

“Option two. Get dressed and find people drunk enough to not know they’re acting as alibis when we say we’ve been talking for half an hour. Finn might work in a pinch, he’d lie for us no question, but he’s a pretty shitty liar. Dunno if he could withstand a repeated question. Option three. Climb out the window. We weren’t fucking at a party if we left an hour ago after I puked all over Santana’s mom’s flower bed.”

“It’s the second floor,” Kurt protests.

“The garage roof is only a few feet down, I’ve bailed from here before. Girl was refusing to walk of shame.”

“So the options are continue to have sex, with the chance that half the hockey team are on the other side of that door waiting to throw eggs at us by the time we’re done, rely on Finn’s ability to keep up a lie, or scale the wall?”

Puck shrugs. “Do you have anything better?”

“One option that will out you, two that will help you hide.”

“ _Us_ hide,” Puck corrects. “I’ll be the bisexual whore, but you’ll be the fag that contaminated me.”

“I’m already the contagious fag. I’ve been the contagious fag for years. Do you really think I wouldn’t be happy if you were outed, and there was someone tough to punch homophobes in the face? But I’m aware that makes me a bad person. So it has to be your choice. What’s your choice, Puck?”

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Around two pm the next day, late enough that the Saturday tv is nothing but The View and Montel, Puck gets a text from Finn. In the last twelve hours he’s gotten literally hundreds, for all of which he’s followed his normal custom of ignoring. Whether they’re slurs or just plain confusion, Puck doesn’t care. He’s only checking his phone every half hour, despite how frequently it’s buzzing. But Finn is different. Finn rates actually reading the words.

**me and the guys r coming over**

Puck snorts. **asking me or telling me?**

**were like 2 streets away so telling i guess**

Puck snorts again, then goes and unlocks the front door. A few minutes later there’s the thud of two of the guys lifting Artie over the step, wheelchair and all, and then putting him back down. They fill out the rest of the living room seating, all looking at him intently. It seems like a classic intervention, but Puck has to pray it’s not. Surely they don’t think they can talk him out of being gay.

That hope lasts as long as it takes Finn to open his mouth. “Puck, you have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” If Puck has to have this conversation with Finn one more fucking time, he’s going to knock his teeth out.

“Sleeping through Glee.” Mike answers in place of Finn.

“You’ve been with Santana and Quinn and Brittany. You fooled around with Mercedes and you dated Rachel. And now Kurt?”

“You’re not getting Tina,” Artie barks. Puck considers himself a very good guy for not blatantly looking at Mike.

“You’ve gotta stop.”

“It’ll ruin Glee. Glee has to live on.” Matt looks oddly desperate, compared to everyone else’s annoyed.

Puck rolls his eyes. “It hasn’t yet, has it? Brit doesn’t think twice about fucking everyone, Santana maintains her rep by fucking jocks, Rachel’s over me and Jesse, Quinn’s never gonna look at my dick again. I didn’t pressure anyone.”

“It’ll ruin Glee because as soon as Kurt realises he doesn’t mean anything to you, because you went and gave Mike a handjob just because you could, he’ll freak out.”

“Wait, why am I the bi-curious one?”

Matt shakes his head. “Puck doesn’t give a shit. Not about how Kurt feels, not about anything.”

“Fuck you,” Puck retorts.

“That walk of shame was just cruel. You left the bedroom and just stood around while everyone talked about you. It took Finn almost forty five minutes to find out and get Tina and Mercedes so you could leave. Who makes the person they’ve just fucked face that?”

Explaining that Kurt let him make the decision because however it was about to go down would affect the rest of his high school career is a bit much with four angry sets of eyes staring at him. Puck goes with the easier reply. “Kurt was fine with it! He didn’t go running to Finn.”

“He didn’t tell his mildly homophobic almost step brother you fucked him and left him to face half of McKinley alone? Shocker!”

“Puck, we’re supposed to be friends. You can’t just fuck and walk away. He’s not like Brittany.”

“I haven’t! We’ve been fucking all summer!”

“Friends with benefits until other friends come along isn’t better. Just stop before he gets even more hurt.”

That’s completely unfair. It’s unfair and it _hurts_ and Puck doesn’t even fully know why, just knows that he wants to punch every single one of them in the face. They shouldn’t just be assuming things. Puck keeps his voice even and calm as he says “You guys don’t know shit. Get the fuck out of my house.”

Artie shakes his head. “That’s not how this works. We don’t leave until you promise.”

This is complete bullshit. Tony Stark would never put up with it. “Feel free to stay then. I’ll leave. Finn, you have a spare key, lock up when you go.”

“Really, dude?”

Puck doesn’t bother to reply. He just shoves his feet in the first pair of flip flops he sees at the door -they’re lime green, they may be his, or his mom’s, or Matt’s- and walks out of the house. Hot off the tail of that conversation and suddenly knowing exactly what he wants, Puck drives to Mr Hummel’s shop. Kurt generally spends Saturdays there. He’s not wearing coveralls, and Puck’s smart enough to know he would never pitch in without his shirt and weird little sexy lederhosen thing being protected, so he must just be hanging out.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Kurt says, smiling. He puts his hands on Puck’s hips without looking around to see if anyone is watching. It’s the first experience Puck’s had of the best part of coming out; not having to do everything out of other people’s gazes.

“I want to date you.” Puck declares.

“Okay, what do you want to do tonight?”

“You’re not listening. I want to date you.”

“I’m confused. We are dating. We hang out constantly and we have sex. We’re boy-” Kurt cuts off. The expression on his face when he starts again is horrible. “You didn’t think we were dating. All this time and...And what? You thought I was just putting out?”

Puck can’t backpedal, he’s got nowhere to go. All he can do is try to refocus Kurt on the important parts. “The point is I want to date now.”

Judging by Kurt’s face, the redirection didn’t work. His next words only confirm that, in the worst possible way. “No, the point is I don’t even have to break up with you because we were never dating. Now get out.”

“Hey-”

“Out, before I tell my dad you were the one to nail our lawn furniture onto the roof.”

Puck’s not scared of Mr Hummel. The man might want to hit him with a tire iron, but he won’t actually do so. What he’s scared of is all the emotions Puck can see Kurt already masking over, and the fact that he knows his own face isn’t hiding half as well. He has to get out. He bared his soul once today, and he got nothing in return. He can’t do it again.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Puck doesn’t know how long he’s been in the bathtub when he hears heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs. There’s no way they belong to Sarah, or Mom, which means that someone is about to harass him. Puck considers slipping under the water and drowning himself. This will be the third intervention in six days. The guys’ group intervention ruined everything, Mike’s only rubbed salt into the gaping hole. Puck wants to believe it can’t be possible to feel even worse, but the truth is the only way is down.

Finn lets himself into the bathroom. It makes sense that it’s him. Mike already had his go. Artie’s incapable of going up a flight of stairs. The only girl that cares about him is Rachel, and she wouldn’t make that amount of noise getting up a flight of stairs. Puck waits for Finn to say something, but he just sits on the toilet.

Puck scrapes up his last vestiges of attitude. He’s running pretty fucking low, but maybe if he can manage a really cutting remark Finn will be wounded enough to leave him alone. “If you wanna look at my junk you should really just wait a week until we’re back in school. It would be a lot more subtle if you did it after practice, in the locker room.”

Finn blows the comment off with the ease of a guy who constantly takes crap from his best friend. “Your mom called. She said you’ve been having a bath for four hours. Isn’t the water freezing by now?”

“I turned the tap on a few times. It’s lukewarm.”

“So at yesterday at Matt’s goodbye party you were staring at Kurt pretty hardcore.”

Puck thinks about grunting, but doesn’t bother. Finn can say what he has to say and leave. Puck doesn’t need to encourage him.

“And Mike said that after we all left you refused to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich because Kurt doesn’t like the smell, and then later you went into the kitchen and ate half the jar with a spoon, because, and I quote, fuck him.”

Puck shrugs, making the water ripple. It happened, he can’t deny it.

“We get it, okay? We were wrong. You’re definitely dating Kurt, the way you’re moping about your argument.”

“Even if we were, our argument ended on him breaking up with me.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Oh come on dude. You really thought Kurt wasn’t going to be over-dramatic in an argument? Have you met him?”

“Well, he did get you kicked out that one time.”

Finn shakes his head. “Not that, I deserved that. I mean dumb crap, like when he threw all my clothes on the floor because he found out I use wire hangers.”

“What’s it matter?” Puck sighs. “I appreciate the attempt at an ex bashing session. I thought this was gonna be an intervention. But I’m tired, man. I’m too tired to come up with slurs. So fuck off, okay?”

“This _is_ an intervention.” Finn stretches and grabs a towel. He throws it, whapping Puck in the head before it drops into the water. “I don’t care that you’re tired. Get out. Get dried. Get dressed. Go talk to Kurt. Tell him you’re stupid. I’ll be your wingman.”

“Get out of my bathroom.”

“Not until you-”

Puck sighs. “Get out of my bathroom because I’m going to get dressed and you don’t need to watch me adjust my balls to get them in my underwear.”

“If this is a trick to get me out don’t think I won’t unscrew the hinges.”

Puck can’t say _you care that much?_ , so he goes with “I’m tired, not suicidal. It’s not that big a deal.”

“An entire container of PB, man.”

Puck puts on the clothes he was wearing this morning and follows Finn downstairs. Sarah’s got her normal Finn Is A God Among Men face on. He wonders what she thinks this is about. Puck knows she’ll have figured out he broke up with Kurt, but it seems to have fallen under the same umbrella of we’ll talk about it when you want to talk about it.

Puck doesn’t say much as they drive to the Hummel house, just fiddles with the white strings on his jean cutoffs. It’s not until they’re parked that he says “I really don’t think this will help much.”

Hands still on the wheel Finn twists to look him dead in the eye. “Speaking as someone that eats at least one meal a day with Kurt and knows everything he’s said in the last six days? Yes, it’ll help.”

Kurt answers the doorbell, but makes no sideways move to let them in. Puck gets the distinct impression that if Kurt could fashion an electric fence over the threshold complete with barbed wire coils on top he would. After a second or two of silence from both sides Kurt sneers. “What, so now it’s Puck’s turn to help you come out?”

“Don’t be a jerk Kurt,” Finn answers calmly.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t want to be gay. Didn’t exactly turn out too well for Puck. But at least you’ll have someone to have _totally meaningless_ sex with.”

Kurt’s comment sends the first spark through Puck’s body that he’s had since everyone left Mike’s yesterday. “That’s not fair! I told you Saturday I wanted to date you.”

“Which only points out that you don’t consider anything we did before that dating!”

Kurt’s skin is blotchy with upset. Puck wants to cup his face, run his fingertips down his chest. He knows Kurt would snap his fingers before he let that happen.

Finn shoots him this look that practically bellows _I’ve got this_. Puck’s seen it a billion times between Glee and football and their childhood together. If Finn is willing to handle this, Puck will gladly let him take Kurt’s comments for a second. “From what you told me about watching tv and snuggling and singing and stuff it sounds like me and Rachel. Except less nagging and boobs.”

Kurt throws his hands into the air. “Yes, exactly!”

“It’s just Puck’s... I dunno. At an unfair disadvantage? He’s never really dated with feelings before. The girls who claimed to date him just want arm candy. He’s hot, and tough, and popular in a thuggish way, and that’s all that mattered. But none of them ever gave a shit beyond being spotted in the hallways with him. You know Santana broke up with him because of his credit score? Not because he didn’t stop sexting other people, not because he didn’t love her. Just because she thought he wouldn’t have enough money for her. Puck’s never done feelings stuff with people he’s supposed to have relationships with. I bet he didn’t even recognise it. He wasn’t like, looking at what you’re doing and deciding it wasn’t good enough. He just didn’t recognise it.”

“Puck?” Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to say?”

“I’ve liked you and wanted to hang out and protect you for like a month now. I didn’t realise having all that and having sex too was bad unless you titled it until the guys got all up my ass about leading you on.”

“So you’re pleading ignorance of how normal people work?”

“Kurt, I’m a gay guy that fucked my classmates’ moms for money. Do you think I have a lot of experience with domestic bliss?”

Kurt’s voice changes from skeptical to soft. Hopeful, maybe. “If I take you back are you gonna try?”

Puck rolls his eyes. “You were there when I said I wanted to date you, right?”

Finn butts in, determined to press his point, like a good wingman. “So yeah, that wasn’t even a fight. It was a miscommunication or whatever.”

“Thanks Finn, your Puck-to-normal person translation was helpful. But it’s no longer needed.” Kurt holds out his hand and Puck knows better than to kiss it sarcastically like Kurt’s a fair maiden. He just takes it and lets Kurt pull him over the threshold.

“Lets go on a date,” Puck says as soon as the door closes. “I’ll borrow a coat with tails and top hat to wear over my t-shirt and cutoffs. We’ll go somewhere badass.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Priorities, Puck. Lets have sex, because I’ve been too miserable to orgasm for six days. Then I’ll teach you about fashion and where the ‘contrasts work well together’ line stops. As a prelude, coat and t-shirt? Acceptable. Coat and nasty scraggly shorts? Not acceptable. Then we’ll go for dinner and a movie.”

Puck grins. “Sounds good to me.”

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)


End file.
